The First Year
by LuvWeasley07
Summary: The first year after the war and Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny must learn to cope with fame and changing relationships, as they help to rebuild the Wizarding World. The Harry Potter Universe was created by the genius, J.K. Rowling-it's all hers!
1. Reality Check

**Reality Check**

Ron studied Hermione's hand, which was gripped in his own. Her's was pale and small, and Ron wondered idly how such small hands could be so capable.

A gentle breeze stirred, breaking Ron from his reverie. The day was obscenely beautiful, and with Hermione at his side Ron could almost make himself forget that he was at Fred's funeral.

Almost.

Lee Jordan walked past him, up the narrow aisle to the front of the large gathering. As he passed Ron, he rested his hand on his shoulder for the briefest of moments. The Weasley's had asked Lee to give Fred's eulogy.

As he began to speak Ron heard a great sniffle from his right. He looked, his eyes immediately seeking out George. George, however, stared straight ahead, his eyes dry and his face set.

Ron glanced next at Ginny who was openly crying. Harry had an arm wrapped securely around her shoulders, his own face partially hidden by the castle's shadow. As he watched, Harry sniffled loudly, and Ron realized that it was his best friend that he had heard. It was quite odd. Over the years, Ron had witnessed Harry in varying moods and tempers. He had seen Harry livid, wistful, and sad. He had heard Harry shout, laugh, and panic. He had never, however, in all their years of close friendship, seen Harry cry. He felt as though he were intruding upon a truly intimate moment, and looked away.

"Ron?" Hermione whispered, her face close to his. "Are you…ok?"

Ron smiled a little, although there was really nothing that was funny. He didn't feel ok at all. He didn't feel…anything, well at least nothing at the forefront. At night when he laid in bed, however, he could swear that there was something building on the edges of himself. As he stared at the dark, slanted ceiling of his bedroom, his mind filled with thoughts of Fred, Remus, Tonks, and all the others who had died, something white-hot and terrible would begin to creep up. In the moments that he was honest with himself, Ron knew it was a matter of time before the shock subsided, and he would have to begin the painful work of facing what had come to pass.

And it would be painful to put Fred in the past.

Ron didn't know how to answer Hermione, so he simply shrugged. Lee's speech was over, and all around him people were climbing to their feet. Ron noticed that his Mum and Dad were not among those standing, and a gap in the crowd allowed him to see why. His mum's face was buried in his father's chest as her whole body convulsed with sobs. His father had his arms wrapped securely around her as tears dripped from his chin and onto her hair. Ron felt his chest tighten and his throat burn.

And then someone was shaking his hand gently and telling him how very sorry they were. And now someone else, and someone else. Ron only nodded, feeling as though he would like nothing better than to flee to the solitude of his own room. He realized with a start that Hermione was no longer by his side, and he turned to find her holding onto Ginny, who, like their mother, was shaking with the strength of her grief. Ron had to rip his eyes away; unable to watch two of the women he loved the most in so much pain.

Ron cast his eyes about, looking for someone whose face wasn't blotchy and swollen. He knew that he should feel just as devastated, and he knew the pain would eventually catch up with him, but at the moment he felt apart from everyone else. It was very lonely.

The crowd shifted once more and Ron noticed a familiar lone figure slipping past Hagrid's Hut and into the forest. He glanced around and followed as discreetly as he could.

Ron found Percy perched on a log, shredding a leaf between his fingers.

"Oh, hello Ron," Percy said, tossing aside the leaf.

"Hey," Ron said loosely. After over a year of not talking to Percy, Ron wasn't sure what to say to him.

"It…it was a good speech Lee gave, huh?" Asked Percy awkwardly.

"I don't know," Ron shrugged, scuffing his new dress shoes against a tree root. "I didn't hear a word of it."

"Yeah, me as well."

They were silent for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. Ron studied Percy's face, surprised by how much he had changed during their estrangement. Ron wondered if he looked different as well.

"Ron…I…I know I haven't been around…I was an ass, really. But I'm here now…and I want you to know that. _I'm here_…if you need anything."

"You're _here_?" Ron demanded after another brief silence. "You…you're _here_? Perce, where the fuck were you before? Where have you been for the last two years? You know, when we were all battling Death Eaters and Voldemort at Hogwarts. Where were you when Bill got married? Where the hell were you when Hermione was being tortured, and we were dueling with Bellatrix fucking Lestrange?"

"I..I…" Percy gulped, his face draining of all color. The rational part of Ron's brain noted how very haunted his eyes looked.

"You know what? If I can make it through the last two years without you, I can sure as hell get along without you now, so just sod off!"

Ron turned and stormed out of the forest, his blood pounding in his ears. He didn't know where his anger had come from, but he certainly wasn't sorry for it. Percy had pitted himself against his own family, and now he thought he could just come waltzing back like nothing had changed? Ron kicked a rock as hard as he could, and cringed as the pain blossomed in his foot.

"Ron?" Hermione's soft call was like a bucket of ice water to his hot temper. She sounded so sad.

"Here," Ron called back, emerging from the forest. "I'm here."

"Why were you in the forest?" she asked, her eyes soft and blood-shot. "You know they haven't caught all the Death Eaters yet."

"I…I just had to get away," Ron shrugged. Hermione took his hand and nodded.

"My parents and I are leaving," she said softly. The evening after the Final Battle, he and Harry had accompanied Hermione to retrieve her parents from Australia. They had been angry and hurt, but in the end their love for their daughter had overcome both, although as Hermione liked to remind him, "They still had a long way to go."

Ron only nodded and studied her face: She looked exhausted.

"I'll stay at The Burrow tonight if you want," she offered, her eyes full of concern.

"No, it's ok," Ron assured her quickly. "Your parents need you, and you haven't seen them in a year."

"Yeah, but they would understand. You just buried your brother."

"Really," insisted Ron. "It's alright. Go home with your parents."

"Ok," Hermione nodded somewhat reluctantly. She reached up on tiptoe and kissed Ron gently on the cheek. He watched her make her way back to the mass of people, and could just make out Hugo Granger who stepped forward and wrapped an arm around her.

Unable to think of an excuse to stay away, Ron made his way back to the gathering, his eyes scanning the crowd for Harry.

He found him with Charlie, Bill, George, Lee, Seamus, Dean and Neville. They stood in a circle laughing sadly over a story Lee had just told about Fred. Both George and Bill shamelessly wiped away tears.

"Oy, where were you?" Charlie demanded, pulling Ron into the circle.

"Just took a little walk," Ron said evasively.

"I can't take any more of this," George announced hoarsely. "I…I need a drink."

"Three Broomsticks?" Seamus asked, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Nah," Harry shook his head. "Let's hit the Hogshead."

"Yeah," Neville agreed. "Less of a crowd. "

"Tired of your fame already, aye Neville?" Dean teased. Neville blushed and ducked his head.

"No one mention where we're going once we get near the gates," Bill warned. "Bloody reporters will follow us. Dad said they've been camping outside The Burrow day and night."

"Well let's get a move on then," said Ron, a part of his mind he couldn't control wondering where Percy now was.

They arrived at the Hogshead ten minutes later and found it as it always was: blissfully empty, save for a few seedy looking characters.

"Alright boys?" Aberforth greeted roughly. He was dressed in clean, albeit worn, navy blue dress robes. He had been in attendance at Fred's funeral.

"Hello Aberforth," said Harry as he approached the bar. "Can we have a bottle of Firewhisky please?"

Aberforth pulled out a blood-red bottle from beneath the bar and placed it on the counter. "On the house," he said. "In honor of Fred."

"Cheers," Bill called from the table they had taken in the corner.

Harry levitated seven small glasses to the table, and each young man caught their own.

"To Fred," Bill said solemnly, holding up his own glass of the red liquid. "Who will never be forgotten."

"To Fred," they all echoed.

Ron tried not to grimace as the whiskey sizzled its way down his throat. After a moment it warmed his chest. It was a feeling Ron rather liked.

"Remember when Fred turned your teddy into a spider, Ron?" Charlie demanded, his smile wide.

"Yes, the sodding prat," Ron laughed. "I still hate spiders to this day."

"Do you remember when Fred caught you doing some midnight swimming in the pond with Susan Chambers?" Bill demanded of Charlie as he re-filled their glasses. "Blackmailed you for a bloody month before you broke down and told Mum yourself."

"Yeah," Charlie grinned. "My bum's never been quite the same since. It was worth it though."

"When I was a first year, Fred stopped some fifth year Slytherins picking on me," Neville contributed timidly. "He walked me to the Common Room every day after dinner for the rest of the week. They didn't bother me again after that."

"To Fred!" George choked, holding his glass aloft.

"To Fred," they echoed once again.

Three hours later, Ron looked around the table at the faces of his brothers and friends as he held his glass with an unsteady hand. They were working their way through a second bottle of Firewhiskey, and Aberforth had even come to sit with them to share a story of how Fred had conned him into serving Lee, George, and himself alcohol.

Now, however, the Firewhiskey was claiming victims, and Harry sat with his head resting on the table, one of its first casualties. Ron felt strangely proud that he could hold his liquor better than his best friend.

"You've been so quiet Ron," Bill said, wrapping an arm around his little brothers' shoulders. "Off in your own world for the past week and a half. What's going on in that head o'yours?"

"Don't know," Ron shrugged. "I don't feel like any of it's real. I don't feel…anything." Charlie reached across Bill and punched Ron squarely in the chest.

"There! Did you feel that?" he laughed.

"Charlie, you ass," Bill scolded with a smile. Ron laughed and rubbed his chest. He looked around at his brothers, and felt something tighten in his chest. Bill was the leader, the cool one. As the eldest, they had all always looked to him for advice and assurance. Charlie had followed closely on his heels. He was the athlete and the daredevil. Then there was…well, Percy. _Sod Percy_, Ron thought, shaking his head. Then there had been Fred. Fred who was the eternal jokester. Fred, who was loyal and good. Fred who had taught him to ride a broom and had helped him with Hermione. For the first time, Ron understood that Fred would not be coming back.

He stood abruptly. It was no good. The burning in his throat had turned into pressure behind his eyes, and Ron knew the thing he had been running from had caught up with him at last. He turned and fled the dim pub, the shouts of his brothers and friends barely making their way through the grief that was quickly overtaking him.

He pushed through the door and into the cool night. Almost immediately there was a bright flash of light and a thick plume of purple smoke.

"Mr. Weasley!" An unfamiliar voice said excitedly. "Mr. Weasley, how do you feel now that your brother's been buried?"

"Weasley? Someone's got a Weasley up there!" Ron heard someone shout excitedly from up the road.

"Mr. Weasley? Ronald? How is Harry Potter coping now that You-Know-Who is really dead?"

Within moments Ron found himself surrounded by a gaggle of aggressive reporters, each aiming rapid-fire questions at him. He had to get away, so he closed his eyes and apparated to the first place that came to mind.

"RONALD WEASLEY!" Hermione exclaimed a moment later. One hand held her wand, the tip aimed at Ron's chest, while the other clutched at her chest. "I could have killed you!"

"Sorry," Ron choked, feeling as though the world were spinning around him. "There were reporters, and I didn't know where else to go…" he trailed off and hung his head. Hermione pushed herself up from the small chair where she had been reading, and went to Ron.

"That's ok, you just startled me," she said. She drew very close, so that she was standing right in front of him. Ron reached out and pulled her against his chest and buried his face in her unruly hair. "Where were you?"

"The Hogs Head," he said without looking up. Hermione only nodded, her arms wrapped firmly around Ron's waist. "I…I never thought I would have to bury one of my brothers," Ron choked, the last of his resolve beginning to crumble. "I always knew that it could be one of us."

At long last the reality of the loss hit Ron full in the face. He sucked in a deep breath, but it was no use. A great sob escaped in a howl-like cry, and then the tears came in earnest. He was suddenly curled on the floor with his head resting in Hermione's lap, but he could not recall how he got there. She stroked his hair and whispered words of comfort, as her own warm tears streamed down her face.

The door opened a fraction and Mrs. Granger poked her head in. Upon seeing Ron's distress she nodded silently at Hermione and backed out of the room, shutting the door quietly.

Ron was not sure how long he cried, he had lost all sense of time. At long last, however, he seemed to be out of tears and was left only with an empty feeling in his chest. He pushed himself up slowly and grimaced awkwardly at Hermione, trying to keep a blush from creeping into his face.

"Hermione, I-"

"Don't apologize," Hermione cut him off. "It's…to be expected."

Ron studied her closely. She was still painfully thin, after their year of near-starvation, and she had deep blue circles under her eyes. That coupled with the fact that her hair was frizzing all over her shoulders made her quite an endearing sight.

"I love you, Hermione," he said without planning to. Hermione's eyes widened to the size of saucers before her mouth curved in a radiant smile.

"You do?" She asked at a whisper.

Ron felt as though his courage had deserted him, and could only manage a nod.

"I love you too," she said. Ron smiled despite the fact that his eyes were swollen and heavy, and despite the fact that a much-loved brother was gone forever. Hermione loved him, and that had always seemed so unlikely.

He reached forward and touched her face gently, reveling in the softness of her skin. Hermione's eyes were riveted on him, as though she still couldn't believe that it was all actually happening. Ron leaned in slowly and when there lips met, his eyes slid closed of their own accord. Ron kissed her with all the gentleness he possessed, trying to somehow soothe all of the heartache they were facing, if only for a moment.

When they at last broke apart, it was to find that the morning sun had broken over the horizon and was shinning brightly into Hermione's room.

"The sun's risen," Ron observed softly.

"Yeah," Hermione nodded. "It's a new day."

XXXXXXXXXX

Curses whizzed by his head, some coming so close they singed his hair. All around him people were falling and writhing in pain. From across the room a glint of brilliant red hair caught his attention; Ginny. She, along with Hermione and Luna, were dueling Bellatrix. Gunny's face was creased with the hard lines of total concentration, as she threw and dodged curses in turn. And then a vicious flash of green blossomed from the tip of Bellatrix's wand, and Harry watched as it soared straight for Ginny's head. He opened his mouth to scream a warning but no sound would come. He watched in complete horror as the horrible green passed through her. Her face was blank and empty as her body collapsed into a lifeless heap.

"GINNY!" Harry screamed, his heart pounding as tears streaked down his face.

"Alright, Harry, you're alright!" assured the booming voice of…Hagrid?

Harry looked around and found that he was, indeed, tangled in the handmade quilts of the Gamekeepers bed.

"You were having a nightmare is all," Hagrid soothed, thumping Harry roughly on the back.

Right. The war was over and Ginny was safe. _Ginny's safe_, Harry repeated to himself. He looked at Hagrid's large form silhouetted against the window, and winced. His head felt as though it had been trampled by a herd of stampeding hippogriffs.

"Morning Hagrid," Harry managed.

"Ah, it ain't been morning for a couple o' hours, Harry," Hagrid informed him, putting a kettle on for tea.

"How…how did I get here?" Harry asked feeling completely foolish for not knowing.

"Bill an Charlie brought you by last night. You were in no fit state to apparate, and they weren't going back to The Burrow. They said you needed a place to sleep it off without the whole world knowing you got pissed. Bloody reporters."

"Ah," said Harry. "Thanks Hagrid. I hope I wasn't too much of a bother."

"No, no." Hagrid said, waving him off. "Slept the whole time, you did."

"Well, I better go," Harry said, pushing himself out of Hagrid's bed. His dream was still fresh in his mind, and he wanted nothing more than to see with his own eyes that Ginny was indeed alright.

"Won't stay for tea, then?" Hagrid asked, motioning to an oversized cup.

"Sorry, Hagrid," Harry said sincerely. "But I'll be by for a visit again soon."

"I'll hold you to it, then," Hagrid agreed.

Fifteen minutes later Harry stood outside The Burrow, looking up at its crooked form. He wondered fleetingly if he would ever have a home just as cozy.

"Hello Harry," a familiar voice sounded, startling him from his reverie. Kingsley Shacklebolt was ambling up the dirt drive, his baldhead glinting in the sunlight.

"Hello Kings…I mean Minister."

"How are the Weasleys?" he asked, his voice even lower than usual.

Harry's stomach twisted guiltily. "I don't know," he admitted. "I haven't seen them since the funeral."

"Ah," said Kingsley. "Well, I hate to do it, but I am in desperate need of Arthur's help. Come to think of it, Harry, I was wanting a word with you, Ron, and Hermione as well."

"About what?" Harry asked bluntly, his curiosity peaked.

"Well, I'm afraid I need to hear the whole story about Snape again, and if possible, obtain the memories he gave you to archive in the Ministry." Kingsley shifted his feet uncomfortably, and Harry was amazed to realize that he was nervous about something. "Also," he continued in his deep, reassuring voice. "Look Harry, I know the three of you have been through more than any eighteen year olds should, but I'm afraid I need to ask for more assistance. If we can schedule a time to sit down and talk, I can elaborate."

"Sure," Harry shrugged. He trusted Kingsley, and he didn't mind helping where he could. He was confident that Ron and Hermione would feel the same. "Just send us word about when and where, and Ron, Hermione, and I will be there."

"Thank you," said Kingsley with an easy smile.

"I though I heard voices," Ginny said, popping her head out the kitchen door.

"Hey Gin," Harry said as something settled peacefully into place upon seeing her.

"Kingsley?" Mrs. Weasley said surprised as they stepped into the kitchen. "Hello. How are you? Can I fix you a sandwich?"

"No, thank you, Molly. I actually just needed to speak to Arthur if he's up for it."

"Of course, let me just run and get him."

Harry watched Mrs. Weasley bustle out of the kitchen, and was pleasantly surprised to note that she looked much better than she had the evening prior. Her eyes were still swollen, but she was smartly dressed and there was a pot on the stove emanating a heavenly smell.

Ginny, on the other hand, looked exhausted. She was wearing her well-worn housecoat, and her glorious hair was tied in a haphazard knot atop her head. She sat at the kitchen table staring down into her soup with glassy eyes.

"How are you, Gin?" Harry asked quietly, taking the seat next to her. She shrugged halfheartedly, without lifting her eyes. Harry longed to hold her, but with Kingsley in the room he didn't feel comfortable to.

Seeming to sense his mood, Kingsley excused himself to the small sitting room, and Harry immediately wrapped his arms around Ginny's shoulders. She seemed to relax a bit, and let a long breath as though she had been holding it in for hours.

"I feel like crying," she whispered dully. "But I don't think I have any more tears."

"It'll get better," Harry said, not sure it was the right thing.

"Will it?" she asked, almost desperately.

"Yeah," Harry assured.

"I love you, Harry," she said so softly Harry wasn't sure if he had heard her correctly. "I always have."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked, and immediately wished he could take the words back. Ginny only laughed.

"Only you would ask that," she said. "Of course I'm sure."

"Oh."

Harry felt as though a balloon were swelling inside of him. No one had ever said they loved him before…at least not that he could remember. He suddenly felt incredibly small and wondered how he could possibly deserve such a gift.

"When Voldemort was about to kill me, your face came into my mind. My last thought was of you, Ginny."

Ginny's head snapped up, her brown eyes as wide and shocked.

"I swear," Harry said, in answer to her unspoken disbelief. "I love you too."

She was in his arms again in moments, each clinging to the other. Harry was vaguely aware of someone entering the kitchen, and then quickly passing through. He no longer cared who saw them. They loved each other, and that certainly wasn't any thing to be ashamed of.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hermione opened her eyes to find herself tucked neatly into her bed, the shades drawn down over her windows. In spite of all the loss, Hermione could not fight the smile that was stealing over her face. After years of unfulfilled dreams, Ron Weasley was finally and truly hers. She felt giddy, and was slightly horrified when a high-pitched giggle escaped her lips.

Honestly, she was becoming worse than Lavender.

"Hermione?" her mother called from just outside her door.

"Come in, Mum." She called back.

Mrs. Granger pushed through the door, her eyes automatically scanning the room for Ron.

"He went home hours ago," Hermione explained, sitting up in bed.

"Was he feeling any better?"

"A little, I think."

"It's going to take time," said Mrs. Granger knowledgeably. "It took years when I lost Gran and Grandpa."

"I still can't believe it," Hermione said, Fred's face flashing into her mind. "Sirius, Dumbledore, Moody, Remus, and Tonks. They were all awful. But _Fred_?" Hermione shook her head and drew a ragged breath. She was on the verge of tears again. "He was just so young. Only 20."

"Oh Darling," sighed Mrs. Weasley. She pulled Hermione to her and stroked her hair. "It _is_ awful. I can't imagine what Molly and Arthur must be feeling. For something so terrible to happen to such a lovely family."

"They are lovely, Mum," said Hermione, pushing herself up to look into her mother's eyes. "They could never replace you and dad, but they're so good to me. They treat me like I'm one of their own."

"And for that they will always have my gratitude." Mrs. Granger smiled softly and cupped Hermione's face with her hand. "I can imagine this was a very rough year for you. You still haven't told me everything."

"There's so much to tell, Mum. I don't even know where to begin."

"Well, I think you've had enough tears for one day, so why don't you start with something happy…like Ron maybe."

"What?" Hermione asked, staring at her mother in astonishment. "Mum, how did you know?"

"Oh Hermione," her mother laughed. "I don't need magic to recognize love when I see it."

"I didn't realize I was so obvious," muttered Hermione, feeling heat rush up her neck to her face.

"Perhaps not to everyone, but it was never a mystery to me and your father."

"Dad knows?" Hermione closed her eyes. Her father had nearly gone spare when she had written home to tell them that she was going to the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum her Fourth Year, and that had been quite innocent. She couldn't imagine what he must think now that he knew she was in love. "What did he say?"

"That he can't believe how quickly you've grown up." Her mother smiled nostalgically and tucked a wayward curl behind Hermione's ear. "We're quite proud of you, dear."

Hermione's eyes began to tear again as her mother looked at her with such unconcealed emotion. Her time at Hogwarts had limited the amount of time they had for such conversations. Hermione drank in her words thirstily. She needed to know that her parents were proud of her. She needed to know that they saw her magic as a gift and not a deformity. She needed to know that they had forgiven her.

"You're proud of me?" Hermione cringed at the vulnerability in her voice.

"Oh Darling, surely you knew that?"

Hermione shook her head and it was her mother's turn to tear up.

"Well then shame on me and your father too. We should have told you…long ago."

"I was never sure what you thought about my magic. Everything seemed to always happen so quickly. It's like one day Dumbledore was here, and the next I was on the Hogwarts Express. Then I only ever saw you on holiday."

"It was difficult," Mrs. Granger admitted. "We always knew there was more to you than the average child. Once when you were two, you were throwing the worst tantrum and Gran's vase exploded. Things like that always happened. When you were happy, when you were sad. You father and I worried over you for years. Then Dumbledore showed up at our door, and he had answers we weren't sure we would ever find."

Hermione laughed despite herself, and her mother looked at her in surprise.

"What?" she demanded.

"I frightened you!" She laughed.

"Well…yes I suppose you did," her mother shrugged. "Although it wasn't so much you as what you would cause to happen."

Hermione nodded. She, like all muggle borns she supposed, had incidents early on that they could not explain. Hermione, after having been teased ruthlessly in primary school, had made her tormenter's face erupt in severe boils. She had only been nine.

"Well I guess I don't blame you," Hermione smiled.

"It was hard though, letting you go. Like surrendering you to the unknown."

"It was a leap of faith," Hermione whispered.

"Exactly," her mother agreed. "But when you came home we knew we had made the right decision. You were happy, and you had made friends…good friends."

"The best," Hermione agreed.

"I'm sorry we never said it before, Hermione, but we _are_ proud of you and everything you are."

"Thanks, Mum."

"Now," her mother smiled. "About Ronald Weasley…"

Hermione laughed and found she couldn't wait to tell her mother all about Ron.


	2. Choices

A/N: Thank you to those who have reviewed. :) The next chapter will have a bit more action, so stay tuned!

XXXXXXXXXX

**Choices**

Ginny laid on her stomach in the Burrow's cozy sitting room a week later, flipping through a muggle magazine. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were meeting with Minister Shacklebolt, her mum had gone to visit Andromeda and Teddy, and her father was at The Ministry, helping to whip things back into shape. She had been left with strict instructions to not set foot outside the Burrow's security enchantment boundaries. There were still Death Eaters on the loose, after all. They had been reminded of that fact just two days after Fred's funeral when two masked men had tortured Aberforth, before burning the Hog's Head to the ground.

Ginny was sick of it all.

The weather outside was lovely, with the sun frequently breaking through the thin cloud cover, lighting up the hills and fields with golden light. Ginny padded to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of pumpkin juice, which she sipped absent-mindedly. Her thoughts were outside in the small quidditch pitch. She longed to climb on her battered Cleansweep and take to the skies. She was sure that her mood would improve significantly if only she could somehow burn off her excess feelings.

They had gone out once, just three days after the end of the war. Hermione had just gone home with her parents, and Ginny, Harry, and Ron had been tiptoeing around, trying not disturb her mum, who had been dividing her time between sleeping and weeping.

They had all been somewhat relieved when Ron had suggested Quidditch, and had headed out to the small meadow behind the Burrow in high spirits. Ginny had flown her heart out. She had done loops and feints, and had even managed to knock Ron off his broom in a moment of over zealousness. Several hours later they had returned to the Burrow sweaty and exhausted, but happier than they had been in days.

The next day they had been front-page news in the Daily Prophet.

Ginny slammed her now empty glass down and blew out a breath. It had never occurred to them that reporters might be hiding in the trees or under the cloak of a disillusionment charm. It never occurred to any of them that the wizarding world would care if they played Quidditch in their own backyard. But apparently the wizarding world did care, because that issue of the Prophet had sold out in less than two hours.

They had since been confined to within the Burrows magical boundaries, which meant they could not venture beyond the twisted little garden without their privacy or safety up for grabs.

Ginny was so lost in thought that she did not notice the gray barn owl fly through the open kitchen window until it was practically in her lap.

"Oh, hello," she said softly. The bird blinked at her intelligently and held out its leg where three letters were tied. "There's water by the sink," she instructed the bird distractedly.

The thick, heavy parchment, addressed in emerald green had caught her attention. It was far too early for the usual book lists. She fingered Harry's letter longingly, fighting the urge to rip it open. Just because they were now together did not give her the right to open his post. Or did it? No, it was no good. She set aside the letters and began to arrange dinner for something to do. The whole time she was cutting carrots, however, her eyes would wander back to the letters on their own accord.

Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were pushing their way into the kitchen. Hermione was chattering excitedly, as Harry and Ron listened in amusement.

"Smells good in here," Ron said loudly, deliberately cutting Hermione off. She looked momentarily offended, but immediately brightened.

"Ginny, you'll never believe what Minister Shacklebolt has asked us to do!"

"Later," said Ginny, unable to wait a moment longer. "You've received letters while you were gone," she explained quickly, seeing the hurt look on Hermione's face. "They look like they're from Hogwarts."

"Oh," Hermione said, picking up her own letter as Harry and Ron did the same. She ripped through the wax seal and Ginny watched as her eyes scanned the page.

"Oh my," said Hermione a moment later, the first to finish reading.

"Wow," Harry agreed.

"Yeah," said Ron, bringing up the rear.

"What?" Ginny demanded. "What is it?"

"See for yourself," said Harry, holding out his letter to her.

Dear Mr. Potter,

As you know, the past year for Hogwarts has been one of extreme challenges. Our student body has faced and overcome issues of unprecedented difficulty. As a result of this courage and sacrifice, many students were unable to complete their studies. We therefore invite you to return to Hogwarts on the First of September to complete your Seventh Year.

We understand that there are special circumstances involved in keeping witches and wizards of age. There will be a meeting on the First of July open to all students who will be returning to repeat their Seventh Year. Issues such as housing and rules in general will be addressed.

Cordially,

Minerva McGonagall

Headmistress

"It's brilliant!" Exclaimed Ginny, unable to disguise her pleasure. They would all finish together. She would not have to board the train back to Hogwarts on her own. "Why aren't you guys happy?"

"The thing is, Gin," Harry began cautiously. "Kingsley's offered us an amazing opportunity."

"What opportunity?" Ginny asked faintly, dreams of cuddling in front of the Common Room fire with Harry evaporating like smoke.

"He's offered all of us a spot in the upcoming Auror training camp."

"Oh," said Ginny. She was no fool, it _was_ quite an opportunity. There was only one Auror training camp every two years, and only twelve spots per camp. They only ever took the creme de la crème. Those with the top NEWT scores, impressive references, and exceptional experience.

The honor had _never_ been given to a couple of eighteen year olds who had not even completed their Seventh Year at Hogwarts.

"I…I haven't made my decision yet," Harry said gently.

"It's your dream, Harry." Ginny said. She turned to the kitchen door and pulled it open. "Can someone please stir that pot in five minutes?"

And then she was gone.

"What?" Harry asked, looking at Ron and Hermione in confusion. "What did I say?"

"Search me," Ron shrugged, stirring Ginny's stew.

"Honestly," tutted Hermione. "It's not that big of a mystery."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, ignoring Hermione's lofty tone. He was too desperate to get a better grip on what was going through Ginny's head.

"Everything's been so insane lately," Hermione explained patiently. "Ginny probably wants everything to go back to normal, and that means all of us at Hogwarts. Plus, she might feel like she's being left behind. Again."

"Oh," Harry said, turning things over in his head. He could understand her wanting things to feel normal again…but feeling left behind? How could she feel as though she were being left behind?

"Personally, I'm not sure if I'm going to accept," Hermione was saying. "It's an amazing opportunity, but I think I've always wanted to do something to promote the welfare of magical creatures. I mean, look how unfair Remus was treated. It was horrible. Not to mention to house elves!"

"Well I'm accepting," Ron declared, picking up Ginny's discarded glass and filling it to the brim with pumpkin juice. "I've always wanted to be an auror, and they're in desperate need right now, aren't they? Plus, I'll get to earn some real quid. I might even get my own Gringott's vault."

Harry leaned against the counter and crossed his arms in thought. His career aspirations had always revolved around being an auror. It was the reason he had continued with potions class after he was no longer required to. Now however, after nearly eight straight years of fighting dark wizards, Harry was no longer sure. The idea of Herbology and quidditch was suddenly very appealing.

"What is it, Harry?" Hermione asked, studying his face.

"I just…I can do whatever I want."

"Well yeah, mate, you _are_ of age," Ron shrugged as Hermione pulled his glass from him and took a sip.

"No," said Harry, running a hand into his hair, trying to tarry in his own thoughts. "What I mean is, now that I don't have Voldemort to worry about, I don't have to make my decisions on how to best stay alive."

"Yeah," Hermione smiled. "You can do whatever you want to do, just because you want to do it, and for no other reason."

"So…" Ron shrugged. "What do you want to do?"

"I…I don't know."

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry stepped out into the evening air, rehearsing in his head what he would say to her. Ginny, he knew, had adopted a special place when trying to escape the house while still keeping away from the reporters. When he arrived at the broom-shed, his suspicions were confirmed when he found a small ladder leaning against it.

"Gin?" Harry called as he reached the top of the ladder. "We need to-"

It felt as though all the air in his lungs had left him. She was there, leaning back on her arms, her brown eyes were trained on the west. Her long red hair was stirring gently in the breeze, and her entire face was ablaze with the colors of sunset.

Harry had never seen anything so beautiful.

"Coming up?" she asked.

"Yeah, sorry," he said, coming out of his reverie. He clumsily stumbled the rest of the way to the top. "It's nice up here."

Ginny nodded. "I love this time of day," she said simply. "Plus, we're still within the protection enchantments."

"Too bad," Harry joked weakly. "I brushed my hair before I came out here. Wanted to look good for the Daily Prophet."

Ginny smiled, her eyes crinkling. "I'll miss you…again," she said softly.

"I'm not even sure what I'm going to do," he said, taking a seat next to her."

"What do you mean?" Ginny demanded, sitting up straight.

"It's just…after so many years of fighting dark magic, I might want a bit of a break."

"You've always wanted to be an Auror," Ginny pointed out. "This is the chance of a lifetime."

"Maybe," Harry shrugged. "But so is returning to Hogwarts."

Ginny sighed and leaned her head on his shoulder. When the breezed stirred again, Harry caught a whiff of her familiar flowery scent. He kissed her fiery hair and was rewarded with another deep, contented sigh.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

Ginny sat up, her brown eyes warm. "Whatever decision you make, I hope you make it because it's right for you."

Harry did not remember leaning forward, but suddenly he was kissing her deeply, his hands tangled in her sweet smelling hair. Ginny's arms wrapped around him, her hands playing up and down his back. She was not shy, and the chemistry between them was not awkward. It never had been. Kissing Ginny was as natural as breathing, and more exciting than the riskiest feint.

Ginny deepened the kiss still, and Harry groaned in response. He did not have time to feel embarrassed, however, because the next thing he knew Ginny had laid down, pulling Harry down on top of her.

He pulled his mouth away from hers and began to kiss her jaw, then her neck. He stopped when he got to the neckline of her shirt and had to suppress a growl of frustration. _Bloody clothes were in the way!_ With one finger he pulled the neckline of her shirt a bit lower and kissed her chest, causing a delicious sound to escape from Ginny's throat. His hands, fueled by her little moan, seemed to move on their own accord. Soon Harry found that he was gripping the front of her shirt with little gentleness, his mouth still locked hungrily on hers. Harry shifted slightly and found himself between Ginny's legs. The fact that they were both still fully clothed did not matter. Ginny, he was sure, could feel exactly how excited she had made him.

She really was brilliant. She, Ginny Weasley, was lying underneath him with heavy eyes, and a wet pouty mouth, wanting to be with him in the most intimate of ways. Harry had never been given such trust. He was not sure what to do with it.

"Ginny, I think we need to slow down," he heard himself say, despite his protesting body.

Ginny sighed and sat up, leveling Harry with her gaze.

"I…" he ran a hand through his hair nervously. "I just don't want to mess anything up."

"You're right," she said after a moment. "I just…you're just so sexy, Harry."

"I'm sexy?" Harry wasn't sure he had heard her right.

"Definitely," Ginny nodded. "The truth is, since we're not ready to take that particular step quite yet, we should probably limit the time we spend completely alone."

Harry shook his head. That was not what he wanted.

"No, listen," Ginny said, holding up a hand to silence him. "If I thought it would stop at just a snog I wouldn't worry so much. But Harry, I don't trust myself. I seem to lose my head wherever you're concerned. I always have."

"Oh." Harry knew that he must be glowing red, but he did not regret Ginny's feelings for him. He wanted her just as badly, perhaps even worse.

"Gin, I…" But he didn't know how to tell her all the things he felt. Instead, he cupped her face between his hands and kissed her with all the love and passion he had. She seemed to get the point, as her eyes slid closed and a dreamy smile played on her lips.

"We better go inside," she said after a moment.

"I can't just yet," Harry said, his face flooding with color. His trousers were still painfully tight. "You go ahead, I'll be in in a minute."

Ginny gave him a smile that did not help his situation before climbing the ladder down. Harry watched her, now just a silhouette in the semi-darkness, until she disappeared into the Burrow.

It took several minutes before Harry was quite sure he was well enough to join the others. Just as he reached the ground a loud crack shattered the peace of the night. With reflexes honed by months on the run, Harry pulled his wand and shouted "Protego!" in one fluid movement.

He needn't had worried. It was only Mrs. Weasley accompanied by Andromeda and baby Teddy. He took down the enchantment immediately.

"I…I'm so sorry," Harry stumbled, feeling like a prize git. "It was just reaction. Mrs. Weasley, Mrs. Tonks, are you ok?"

"We're fine dear," Mrs. Weasley assured warily.

"That was quite the reaction," Mrs. Tonks noted with a prim smile.

Even in the dim light cast from the Burrow, Harry was struck again by her resemblance to her sister. Although he knew that she did not harbor the same anti-muggle views, Harry could not help but note that Andromeda Tonks was most certainly from a blue-blood family. He was not yet sure if he liked her, and that made him feel slightly guilty.

The sudden wail of a baby broke through Harry's thoughts. The bundle in Andromeda's arms began to squirm, a little first punching the air erratically.

"He's excited to hear his godfather's voice, it would seem," Mrs. Tonks said, her eyes trained on her grandson's face. "Aren't you Teddy? Would you like to hold him?" she asked Harry suddenly.

Harry had to repress the urge to take a step back. The baby she offered him was still small, with his father's eyes and nose, and a tuff of bright, bubble-gum pink hair.

"So he _is_ a Metamorphmagus?" Harry asked, transfixed.

"Yes, I think he is," Mrs. Tonks answered with a proud smile. "Although he hasn't changed more than his hair yet. Would you like to hold him, Harry?"

"I don't want to hurt him," Harry blurted.

"Don't be silly," said Mrs. Tonks, passing the fussy Teddy over before Harry could protest further.

His cries faded to low whimpers, and in moments he lay nestled happily in the crook of Harry's arms. Harry had never held an infant before and found that he rather liked the warm little bundle.

Harry wondered what his and Ginny's children might look like.

"You're a natural! You'll be a wonderful father, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said delightedly. Harry's eyes widened in shock. He prayed Mrs. Weasley had never studied occulemency.

"Well come along," Mrs. Weasley beckoned, ushering Mrs. Tonks and Harry into the bright kitchen. "I'll just bang something together, shall I?"

"Mum, Mrs. Tonks," said Ginny in surprise as they entered the kitchen. "Oh Harry, is that Teddy?!"

She rushed forward and peered down into the sleeping baby's face, touching his downy soft chin.

"He's got Tonks' hair!" She noted excitedly. "May I hold him?"

Harry looked to Mrs. Tonks who nodded with a smile, before he passed the baby over. Ginny cuddled him close and kissed the top of his feathery head.

"Oh, this smells good! Who made it?" Mrs. Weasley asked, peering into the large pot of stew Ginny had made.

"Me," Ginny said, making faces at Teddy who had just opened tired eyes.

"Well sit down everyone," Mrs. Weasley ordered. "Where's Ron? Is Hermione here?"

"Ron and Hermione are both upstairs," said Ginny, still not looking up from the baby.

"They shouldn't be upstairs alone," Mrs. Weasley muttered to herself as she began to dole out the stew.

After Ron and Hermione had been unceremoniously summoned downstairs, everyone sat down around the long kitchen table. Harry took a tentative bite of stew and smiled over at Ginny. She had inherited her mother's culinary skills.

"Harry," Mrs. Tonks began. "I was hoping to discuss Teddy with you."

Harry's eyes traveled over to Teddy who had found a new bed in Hermione's arms. His friend was bent low over the baby, cooing and make faces much the same way Ginny had.

"Ok," Harry said, not bothering to disguise the excitement in his voice.

"Well, as I'm sure Remus told you, you were named as his godfather," began Mrs. Tonks. "Now, he and Dora didn't have a will before they…well before the battle. They were so busy with the war efforts."

Mrs. Tonks' eyes had filled with tears causing her to blink rapidly. "You have the right, as Teddy's godfather, to demand that he live with you," she gave Harry a watery, pleading sort of smile. "But I was rather hoping that you'd let me keep him."

"Of course," Harry said automatically. "I want to see him a lot…and you know, be there for him and all, but I don't think I'm ready to take on a baby full time."

Mrs. Tonks sagged in her seat and laughed in relief.

"See him as often as you'd like," she said, passing a bottle to Ron who was taking his turn holding Teddy. "Merlin knows I could use a break every now and then."

"What if I took him every Sunday?" asked Harry, as visions of teaching Teddy quidditch blossomed in his mind.

"That's a lovely idea," Mrs. Tonks said. "Let's start this week, shall we?"

Several hours later after everyone had consumed seconds, and in Ron's case fourths, servings of Ginny's stew, as well as several cups of tea, Harry followed Mrs. Tonks outside, Teddy asleep on his shoulder.

"It was very nice to see you tonight, Harry,' she said, taking her grandson back with exceeding gentleness. Harry gazed at her and could not help but once again see Bellatrix in her face. Yet, he acknowledged, she was very much her own person. She had married a muggle-born, raised a magnificent daughter, and welcomed a son-in-law who was also a werewolf. And she had borne the loss of all three with magnificent grace. Harry decided that he liked her very much, after all.

"It was nice to see you also, Mrs. Tonks," he said.

"Harry, since we're going to be seeing so much of each other, do you think you could do me a favor?" She asked, adjusting Teddy into a more comfortable position.

"Sure," Harry agreed, determined to do whatever she asked.

"Would you please call me Andy?"

"Andy?"

"Yes. Mrs. Tonks is far too formal, and Andromeda is too much of a mouthful. Most of my friends call me Andy."

"Oh…ah, sure," Harry stumbled. There was something he had to say to her, before he lost his nerve. "Mrs-I mean Andy, I didn't get a chance to talk to you at…well at the funeral," he said, remembering how grief stricken she had been as her son-in-law and daughter's bodies had been lowered into the ground. "But I wanted to tell you I'm sorry. I…I loved…" Harry's voice failed him as his eyes began to tear. "I'm just very sorry," he finished softly.

"Thank you, Harry," Andy said, her own eyes shinning unnaturally bright. "Well, I'm off."

Harry stood in the yard a while after she dissapparted, gazing at the stars and wondering what train Remus and Tonks might have boarded out of King's Cross, and where they were now.


	3. The Wall

A/N: Sorry for the long wait, but life happens. I will keep the chapters coming, just please be patient. Thanks to those who have reviewed! Your input is always welcome!

**The Wall**

"Oh, that looks lovely, Hermione," Ginny enthused as Hermione turned in front of the full-length mirror at Madam Malkin's.

"Yes, dear, very nice indeed," agreed the proprietor herself. "That color agrees with your complexion."

Hermione only smiled and smoothed down the navy blue material. The full a-line skirt _was_ rather flattering on her still overly thin figure. She eyed Ginny's curves enviously. She had looked fantastic in the first dress robes she had tried on. It had taken Hermione seven attempts to find this dress.

"Is it appropriate?" Hermione asked, eyeing herself critically. The hemline fell about two inches below her knees. Perhaps she should look for something a bit longer.

"It's perfect Hermione," said Ginny, rolling her eyes. "Buy it before _my_ robes go out of style!"

"I'll take it," she told Madam Malkin.

She and Ginny had escaped to Diagon Alley for the express purpose of finding new dress robes. They had been invited to attend the dedication of the new Ministry of Magic memorial that evening, and it was to be a formal affair.

As Madam Malkin began to magically iron the robes, Hermione bit her lip nervously. She wanted to look especially nice that evening. In her mind's eye she kept seeing the way Ron's face had lit up when he saw her at Bill's wedding. She hoped to recreate the moment.

She also hoped that they might be able to glean a few moments of alone time. Perhaps they would find themselves in some dark and abandoned corner of the Ministry. A thrill of excitement ran up her spine at the very thought.

"Hermione Granger!" Ginny exclaimed, breaking through her thoughts. "I hope you weren't day-dreaming about my brother with that lovesick smile all over your face!"

Hermione felt her face burn. "Am I that obvious?" she asked Ginny bashfully.

"You and Ron have always been painfully obvious to everyone except yourselves," Ginny informed her matter-of-factly. "Personally I thought Ron would always be hopelessly lost, but then again, I know how you enjoy a challenge."

"You…you're Hermione Granger?" Madam Malkin asked as her face seemed to dawn with recognition. "Good gracious it is you," she said, not allowing Hermione a chance to answer. "I…I hadn't realized."

Hermione smiled awkwardly. It still surprised her when people recognized her. She wondered if she would ever get used to it.

"That's ok," Hermione said quickly. "Not many people recognize me."

"Oh, go on," Madam Malkin said in disbelief. "After all you did to help bring down You-Know-Who? You're famous!"

"Well, a lot of people helped," said Hermione modestly. The other shoppers were beginning to stare. "Ginny here for instance."

Ginny glared daggers at Hermione but smiled patiently at Madam Malkin.

"Ginny? You mean Genevra Weasely? Oh my, girls. That is very exciting."

"Well thank you," Ginny said with a gracious smile. "Sorry to cut this short, but we really do need to be on our way."

"Of course," Madam Malkin fairly squealed. She murmured a quick charm and their new dresses were immediately surrounded by a protective bubble. It reminded Hermione unpleasantly of the enchantment that had encased Nagini. "There you are, girls, and on the house too."

"No," Hermione said automatically. "Really."

"Yes," Ginny agreed. "We would really like to pay for our robes."

"I wouldn't hear of it," Madam Malkin insisted, as she shooed them out of the shop. "After all you've done it's the least I can do."

"Really, we don't mind paying," Hermione attempted once more.

"No, no dear. I insist. Any time you need anything, you just come see me," she said. "Just let people know where you got your robes, should they ask."

They managed to get about a hundred meters away from the store before they burst into laughter.

"That was interesting," Hermione managed diplomatically. "Do you think anyone's going to care enough to ask us where we got our robes?"

"Definitely," Ginny laughed. "By next week every witch our age will be wearing navy blue and forest green dress robes as they shop for potion ingredients and quidditch supplies."

"Oh, God help us all if I become a fashion icon," Hermione groaned.

"You mean you don't want to see every girl and woman in wooly jumpers and grey knee-socks?" Ginny asked innocently.

"No," Hermione answered back with supreme primness. "Not everyone can pull off that particular look as beautifully as yours truly."

They both dissolved into laughter again until Ginny sobered suddenly.

"What is it, Gin?" Hermione asked, studying her friend's face.

Ginny bit her lip and looked at Hermione with eyes brimming with regret. "I just realized that I'm having a laugh with you…and my brother just died a month ago."

"Ginny," Hermione said helplessly. She too felt suddenly guilty. For a moment their laughter had seemed natural and lighthearted. Now it seemed selfish and callous. Hermione had to fight to keep her own tears in check. Before the war, she had never realized how far reaching grief was, but now she knew it touched everything, even the most obscure moments of joy.

"I know things will get easier," Ginny said softly, her eyes looking over Hermione's right shoulder. "It just sometimes feels like the whole world should have stopped the moment he died."

"It did…for a moment," Hermione said thickly as speaking became more and more difficult. "After the explosion, everything was still and silent. It was like the whole world was holding its breath. And then…"

"And then?" Ginny asked, her eyes riveted on Hermione. Hermione had never spoken to Ginny about Fred's death. She had allowed Ron and Percy to decide the details they felt their family should know.

"Then Percy was shouting and screaming, and it was like everything clicked back into motion."

"Oh." Ginny hugged herself despite the warmness of the day. All around them, Diagon Alley was bustling with new life. Shoppers were strolling from store to store, and the atmosphere was one of lighthearted relief. Hermione found it slightly ironic. She and Ginny had been at the heart of the resistance. They had paved the way for Voldemort's destruction with their own blood, sweat and tears. They should have been in the thick of the happiness and relief, but instead they stood in the middle of the cobblestone street in their own private world of grief.

"Come on," said Ginny after a moment. "Let's have a drink."

"Good idea," Hermione said, happy for a new mission, however trivial. "Only let's not go to the Leaky Cauldron. It's sure to be crowded and I don't want to be recognized."

They waked for a moment before Hermione's eyes landed on the building that use to house Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. Hermione's heart clenched painfully once again as she remembered that the wizened little wizard had never been found.

"Look there," she said, nudging Ginny.

"The Dancing Shamrock?" She asked curiously. "Shall we give it a try?"

"Ye-es," Hermione said hesitantly. She followed Ginny and stopped in her tracks the moment they walked through the door. Every wall and surface in the small pub was covered with posters of the Irish Quidditch team. All around her players zoomed in and out of pictures, passing the red quaffle between them. Green flowerets and shinning shamrocks winked at them from the walls and ceilings. Hermione had seen this kind of fanaticism before, but in a garish shade of orange.

"Hermione? Ginny?" A familiar voice called from behind the bar. A patron shifted in his stool and they were able to make out the shinning face of Seamus Finnigan. "It is you! Welcome to the Dancing Shamrock."

"Seamus!" Hermione said, reaching the bar. "It's great to see you."

"You as well," he said, smiling at them both. "What have you been up to for the last month, beside making cameos in the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and Ginny laughed out loud.

"We've not done much of anything," Ginny shrugged.

"Well it's a well-earned break, I'd say," Seamus said, floating a drink to an older wizard down the bar. "What can I get you?"

"A Butterbeer for me please," Ginny ordered, taking a seat.

"I'll have the same," Hermione agreed.

"Going back to Hogwarts this September?" Seamus asked, pulling two bottles from underneath the bar.

"Well I am," Ginny answered somewhat wistfully.

"I haven't decided yet," Hermione fibbed. She knew exactly what she planned to do, but she wasn't going to share it with Seamus before she had told Ron or Harry.

"Hermione Granger not sure if she's going back to school?" Seamus asked, his blue eyes twinkling. "Have pigs sprouted wings and flown out of Peeves' arse?"

Hermione only smiled and shrugged while Ginny laughed openly. "The Minister has actually offered Hermione an amazing opportunity," Ginny said, looking to Hermione with an expression that asked permission. Hermione nodded. "He's invited her to take part in the next Auror training camp."

"Bollocks!" Seamus cried, his eyes wide in disbelief.

"It's true," Ginny assured him.

"You're going to be an Auror?" He asked Hermione, who only shrugged once again in response. "That's feckin unbelievable. I've never heard of anyone so young making the cut."

"Ron and Harry have been asked as well," Hermione said, breaking her silence.

"I suppose it makes sense," Seamus said after a moment. "What with the three of you bringing down You-Know-Who and all."

"It wasn't just us," Hermione said, but Seamus waved her off.

"Don't be so modest, Granger," he said. "Everyone helped, yeah, but the three of you were in the thick of it, weren't you? Dumbledore didn't leave anyone else the job of hunting down the pieces of You-Know-Who's soul."

"Will Dean be returning?" Hermione asked, deftly changing the subject. "To Hogwarts I mean."

"He almost has his mother convinced," Seamus nodded. Hermione could relate. Her parents had also been traumatized by the war.

"Has anyone heard if Dennis Creevy will return?" Ginny asked, rolling her bottle of Butterbeer between her hands.

"I wouldn't bet on it," Seamus said, pouring a glass of Firewhisky for a new patron. "I heard his Dad doesn't want him to have anything to do with the wizarding world after what happened to Colin."

Ginny sighed. "I was afraid of that."

"It's not as though he can just forget who he is," said Hermione indignantly. "That doesn't honor Colin's memory at all!"

"No," Ginny said, her words measured. "But Mr. Creevy is a widower, Hermione, did you know that? Colin and Dennis were all he had. Now it's only Dennis. Can't blame him, really, for holding on so tightly."

Hermione nodded as a feeling of melancholy wrapped itself around her like a scratchy blanket. She wished that Ron would appear and make her laugh in the way that only he could.

"Well enough of that," Seamus said suddenly, pulling her from her thoughts. "We've had enough depressing news to be getting on with, I'd say. Besides, don't the two of you lovelies have a party to be preparing for?"

"How did you know?" Hermione asked, pulling several sickles from her small handbag.

"I read all about how the "Golden Trio" was going to attend the Statue Dedication Ball at the Ministry in the Daily Prophet yesterday. Plus, you're both carrying dress robes."

"Oh," Hermione blushed as Ginny laughed beside her.

"So I'll be seeing the both of you there," said Seamus. "And I'll be bringing a quill so I can get your autograph."

"Ha-ha," Hermione said sarcastically, unable to hide her embarrassed smile.

"And you can just put that away Granger, Weasley," Seamus scolded as they both offered money to him for their Butterbeers. "Your money is no good here."

"Seamus-"

"Really-"

"No," he insisted firmly. "Gryffindors and my fellows in arms drink for free here."

"Won't you get in trouble?" Ginny asked, still holding out several sickles to him.

"Nah," Seamus beamed. "Me Mam owns the place."

Several hours later Hermione threw down her brush and stomped her foot in frustration. She had just spent two bottles of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion and the better part of an hour trying to get her hair to behave, and it was still frizzing all over her shoulders.

"Having trouble?" Ginny asked, grinning.

"You're so lucky," Hermione sighed, watching her friend in the mirror. "I wish I had straight hair."

"You mean boring hair?" Ginny asked as she fastened a necklace around her neck.

"Ginny, you're hair is anything but boring," Hermione informed her, taking in the gleaming red locks.

"Can I have a go?" Ginny asked, picking up the discarded brush.

"Sure," Hermione agreed, feeling as though she had nothing to lose. "Let me just warn you that it's behaving worse than usual this evening. You might want to put on your dragon-hide gloves."

"I'll take my chances," Ginny laughed. Twenty minutes later, after some light swearing and a lot of huffing, Ginny stood back beaming. "There!" she said. "You're gorgeous!"

Hermione eyed herself critically. Her hair was smoothed back and piled high atop her head in a pretty up-do. She was sure it had never looked so elegant. She wore her new navy blue dress, and simple silver earrings that had been a gift from her parents.

"Oh Hermione!" Mrs. Weasley gushed as she stepped into Ginny's room. "You look lovely, dear. You know, I have a silver necklace that would go perfectly with your earrings. Shall I go get it?"

Hermione studied herself once again. It did look as though she were missing something. "Yes, please," she agreed, smiling at Mrs. Weasley.

"There, that looks perfect," Mrs. Weasley said several moments later as she fastened the necklace around Hermione. "You girls," she said, now admiring her only daughter with teary eyes. Ginny's new robes were made of bottle green satin. Her hair, which was pulled back from her face by pretty barrettes, tumbled down her back in a cascade of loose red curls.

Ginny hugged her mum and laughed. "Don't cry, Mum," she said. "You'll make your face all splotchy."

"Well are we ready?" Mrs. Weasley asked, pulling herself together. Hermione nodded calmly as her heart began to hammer inside her chest. She wondered how she could fight in a war and yet still feel so nervous about seeing Ron.

When Hermione reached the bottom most step she heard a gasp. She spun around to find Ron staring at her, his eyes nearly coming out of his head.

_There._ Hermione thought, as warmth radiated out of her heart and into the rest of her body. _Worth every bloody minute it took to get ready._

"Holy shit," he said when he re-gained his ability to speak. "Hermione you look amazing."

"RONALD!" Mrs. Weasley chastised.

"Sorry Mum," Ron said automatically without taking his eyes off of Hermione.

"Thank you," Hermione said, wishing her face wasn't so warm.

"Ready?" Harry asked, holding onto Ginny's hand. His face was quite red and he kept staring sidelong at her as though he could not look at her enough. Hermione could not help but sigh happily. She was not sure how things would be in an hour, or even a minute, but at that moment she felt as though everything in the world was as it should be.

XXXXXXXXX

"Wonder what it is?" Ron asked, several minutes later as they made their way into the Ministry's large Atrium.

"Anything's better than the other one," Hermione said, as she stared intently at the black hanging that was covering the new memorial from view. "Don't you find it a little…strange being back?"

"Yeah," Ron agreed. They had only returned to the Ministry once since the death of Voldemort, and Ron had felt on edge the entire time. A quick study of Hermione's posture told him that she shared his sentiment.

"We need a drink," he said, taking her hand. A part of him still couldn't believe that he was allowed to hold her hand whenever he wanted to, and an even bigger part of him couldn't believe that she actually loved him. Without planning to, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. "What's that?" He asked, noting the wide, pink scar on her hand.

"From the cursed treasure in the Lestrange vault," Hermione said, very pink in the face. "The Dittany couldn't stop it scarring."

"Oh," said Ron, kissing the scar gently.

"Ron," Hermione scolded gently, pulling her hand back. "Not in public."

"Please," said Harry suddenly. Ron had forgotten there was anyone else in the room. "I really do need a drink now."

"Shut it, you," Ron said, nudging Harry good-naturedly. "Look, there's Neville. Oi! Longbottom!"

Neville looked up form across the room where he was surrounded by a crowd of giggling girls. The moment he saw them his face broke into a smile of happy relief.

"Hello," he said when he met them. "I've never been happier to see the four of you."

"More admirers than you can handle?" Ginny asked with a smile. Neville flushed pink and simply shrugged in response.

"Have you heard?" he asked suddenly, his round face alight with excitement. "I've been given an internship at Hogwarts under Professor Sprout. I'm taking over Herbology for her after I complete my Seventh Year!"

"Oh Neville that's wonderful!" Ginny cried, wrapping him in a hug.

"Congratulations, mate," Ron and Harry both agreed.

"There's no one better for the job," Hermione beamed.

"Cheers," Neville said, his face flushed with happiness. "What about you lot? What are your plans?"

"Hogwarts for me," Ginny said with a smile and shrug.

"Well," Harry said, glancing around at them nervously. "I'll be going back also."

"Brilliant," said Neville, as Ginny smiled radiantly beside him. Hermione, Ron realized, had remained unnaturally quiet. When he looked at her it was to find that she had become quite teary as she beamed at Harry.

"Well, I'll be accepting the Minister's invitation," Ron said mostly to Hermione and Harry. Neville looked quite confused but Ron did not stop to explain. "I can't let the chance pass me by."

"Oh," Hermione's face fell, and Ron felt an awful feeling snake into his stomach.

"You're going back."

It was not a question, but Hermione nodded all the same. "I've got to finish, Ron," she said, her voice pleading for him to understand. "I'll always regret it if I don't."

"Yeah," he nodded, trying to seem nonchalant. "I understand."

"I don't want to…be separated from you," Hermione continued. "But becoming an Auror was never my dream."

"I know," Ron said, not quite able to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "You want to free the bloody house elves!"

"You're not being fair," Hermione said, her eyes full of hurt. Ron was vaguely aware of Harry, Ginny, and Neville slowly slinking away. "I support your decision, why don't you support mine?"

Ron exhaled as though he had been holding his breath. He knew he was being unreasonable, but a part of him couldn't help it. He wanted Hermione with him. They had already wasted so much time.

"Look, I'm sorry," he said. "We can talk about this more later, let's just have fun tonight."

"Fine," Hermione snapped, and Ron had to work hard not to groan. She could hold a grudge longer than anyone he knew. He had to go on serious damage control.

"You do look really beautiful tonight," he said softly as he touched her bare shoulder. He waited momentarily for a rebuke, and when none came, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close.

"You're infuriating," Hermione said, looking up at Ron with eyes full of love and exasperation.

"You like me infuriating," he said, kissing her forehead. Hermione sighed and snuggled closer to his side.

"We really do need to talk about it, Ron," she said nervously. "Promise me we will."

"We will," Ron agreed reluctantly. He knew that no matter when the conversation took place, it wasn't going to be easy. He and Hermione had always had a tumultuous relationship. Perhaps that was why he loved her so much: she challenged him.

"Oh there's the Minister," Hermione said, straightening up. Kingsley was mounting the steps to the raised platform, and as he did so the entire Atrium fell respectfully silent.

"Thank you," he began as Ginny and Harry reappeared next to Ron. "For being here tonight." Kingsley looked out over the crowd, his eyes very somber. "Just over a month ago a terrible battle was fought, and a war that had lasted over twenty five years came to an end. When the dust settled, our enemy lay defeated, but the victory was purchased at an impossibly high price. Brothers, sisters, sons and daughters. Friends. All snatched from life in the undiscriminating tide of war. What words, then, can I say to properly honor those who laid down their lives in their effort to help eradicate evil from our world? What honor can we bestow upon them to satisfactorily reflect the courage it takes to face an enemy, knowing full well that the odds are against you? The truth is, there is no medal or memorial that can adequately fill such a rigorous demand."

Kingsley grabbed the black hanging and pulled it down to reveal a wide, black marble wall that stood slightly taller than Hagrid. It reminded Ron strongly of the night sky, speckled with stars. He found himself battling against an unexpected pressure behind his eyes as an image of Fred appeared on the slab, his face alight with mischief. Beneath his picture were the simple words "Fred Weasley".

"This wall stands not as a memorial, but rather as a reminder. A reminder of what it took to obtain peace and justice. A reminder that our new world was purchased with the blood of people who were good and brave. It stands as a reminder that we must continue the job they have passed on to us, and that is to fight hate and intolerance wherever we encounter it. With this wall standing sentinel, we will we will build a new and better Wizarding world. That, ladies and gentlemen, is the only way to honor such sacrifice."

Hermione was crying, and Harry had one arm around her and the other around Ginny. Ron stepped forward, as did most of the crowd, and examined Fred's picture. He felt Hermione slip her hand into his, and he gripped it gratefully. The picture was of the highest quality and incredibly lifelike. Ron had to resist the urge to reach out a touch it. His father was suddenly warm at his side, his own eyes swimming with unshed tears as she stared at the image of his son.

"So young," he choked. Ron did not trust his voice to speak.

"Look," Hermione said, as Fred's picture faded, to be replaced by a picture of Tonks, her hair throwing a pink glow over the crowd. Somewhere behind him there was a stifled sob, and Ron knew that Mrs. Tonks was in attendance.

When the colorful photo of Tonks had faded, Colin Creevy beamed out at the crowd, his face round and youthful. Ron felt a stab of grief for Dennis. He knew, after all, the pain of losing a brother.

Next, the face of a very pretty and very young redheaded woman lit the marble. Ron squinted at the image, feeling that he knew the woman from somewhere.

"Oh Harry," Hermione whispered next to him, her voice thick with emotion.

"My mum," Harry nodded, his face set. That was it, Ron realized, as the words 'Lily Potter' appeared beneath the image. Harry had, on occasion, shown him pictures of his mother, and that combined with the fact that Harry had exactly her eyes, had made her a vaguely familiar figure.

Forty-five minutes later they had seen the pictures of well over one hundred people. Some had been familiar, such as Dumbledore, Remus, Dobby, Sirius and James Potter, and others had been strangers to them. Still, Ron had felt a surge of gratitude and pride for every person shown.

When Fred's picture reappeared, the crowd began to disperse.

"It's an improvement, I'd say," George joked weakly when Ron moved to join him. He stood in front of the wall, staring at his twins' face. Ron noticed that although George had attempted a joke, the laughter had not reached his eyes.

"It's brilliant," Ron agreed, shoving his hands into his robe pockets.

"Percy thought so too," said George, still not taking his eyes from the wall.

Ron turned and faced George fully, feeling completely flabbergasted. "Percy was here?"

"Of course," George answered without emotion.

"You talked to him?" Ron failed at keeping the accusation out of his voice.

"Yes," he said, still not looking at Ron.

"Why in the hell would you talk to him, George?" Ron demanded. "He screwed us over for the bloody Ministry!"

"He came back."

"Yeah, and a hell of a lot of help he was to Fred," Ron spat bitterly. "Why in the hell would you even acknowledge his existence?"

George turned to Ron, his blue eyes full of sadness.

"Ron, I've already lost one brother, I'll be damned if I lose another."


	4. Grimmauld Place

A/N: Happy election day to my fellow Americans! As always a BIG thank you to _all_ who have reviewed! Stay tuned for the next chapter when the gang goes back to Hogwarts to learn all about the special circumstances of being 'of age' students!

**Grimmauld Place**

Harry stood atop the steps just outside the Burrow's kitchen door and scanned the little haphazard yard. Several chickens pecked through the dew-moistened grass, as a lone gnome struggled to pull a morning worm from the ground. The sun had just risen, and Harry basked in a finger of warm, golden light.

He loved the Burrow. He loved it almost as much as he loved Hogwarts. Growing up with the Dursleys', Harry had been anything but nurtured and coddled. It was at the Burrow, for the first time in his life, that Harry had been fussed over. Mrs. Weasley made him sandwiches, mended his socks, and hugged him goodnight. Mr. Weasley told him funny stories, and gave him sincere advice. At the Burrow he had never been "The Boy Who Lived", nor had he been "The Chosen One". Instead, he had always been accepted and loved as just Harry.

His second family often made him wonder about his first.

His mum and dad had never known him as anything other than their son. His father, he knew, had been very hands-on. Harry still had the picture of his father chasing him while he rode the miniature broom, which had been a gift from Sirius. There was also Voldemort's memory he had seen, of himself as an infant, sitting on his father's lap as he made rings of colorful smoke for Harry's amusement. His father had been a good man. Perhaps he had been something of a show-off in his younger years, but still a good friend and fiercely loyal. Harry remembered with a surge of pride the way his father had headed Voldemort off in an attempt to buy his wife and son more time to escape. There had not been a moment's hesitation, even though he had been unarmed and must have known that there was no real defense to be had. He wondered fleetingly if he would have done the same. Then, a picture of Ginny burst into his mind, and he knew without a doubt that he would.

Then there had been, of course, his mother. She had loved him, he knew, for she had given her life for his. Harry also knew that she had been spirited and brave. Yet he had almost no clue as to his own interactions with her. He knew without question that she had been a good mother to him. He knew that she had sung him songs, and tickled his toes, and cuddled him close. It was a source of great regret, however, that he had never seen a picture or memory of him and his mother sharing such simple moments.

He had so many questions about them. He wondered where he had been born, and how had his name been decided? He wondered if his parents had been excited when they learned he was coming along, or if they had been terrified? He wondered where his parents had been married, and when it was that Lily had discovered that James Potter was not an old toe rag after all? There were so many details that he yearned to know, but as he looked over the hills bathed in morning light, he knew that he would have to make peace with not knowing. The last person who could have told him intimate details about his parents had fallen in the Second Battle of Hogwarts, leaving behind his own orphaned son.

Teddy. Harry reached into his pocket and extracted the little photograph of Teddy that he had put there. The picture Teddy sucked on a chubby fist, his little tuft of hair a brilliant shade of green. Harry felt a strong connection to his godson; they were both, after all, orphans of war. Harry resolved that Teddy's life would be very different from his own. Where Harry had only known cruelty and neglect at the hands of the Dursleys', Teddy would grow up surrounded by love and acceptance. He would grow up knowing exactly what he was, and who his parents had been. Harry began to mentally catalogue stories and details of Remus and Tonks that he would one day share with Teddy.

Suddenly, following closely on the heels of a loud crack, Hermione appeared, looking quite tired.

"Morning," Harry said, noting that she was right on time.

"Good morning," she called back wearily. "Is Ron up yet?"

"Yeah, I heard him lumbering about just before I came out here."

"Where's Ginny?" Hermione asked, settling down on the front steps.

"She left before dawn to see George. She's going to meet us there."

"Oh." Hermione sighed wistfully and gazed out over the hills.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, even though he was quite sure about what was bothering her.

"Well…" Hermione glanced over her shoulder at the kitchen door, making absolutely certain that they were in fact alone. "Do you think I'm making a mistake…going back to Hogwarts?'

"No," Harry answered honestly. "I knew that you would from the moment we read McGonagall's letters."

"You did?" Hermione asked a little breathlessly.

Harry nodded. "Like you said, you never wanted to be an Auror."

Hermione crossed her arms and slumped down. It was a posture Harry recognized to mean that she was annoyed.

"If _you_ knew from the beginning, how could _he_ act all surprised and shocked?"

There was no need for her to explain to Harry who 'he' was. Harry sighed and crossed his own arms, resolving himself not to speak.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Hermione said after a moment. "I don't want to drag you into the middle."

Harry only nodded.

"But," Hermione's face was anxious. "Were we mad to turn down Kingsley's offer?"

"Maybe," Harry shrugged. "But mad is pretty standard for us, isn't it?"

Hermione peered at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Oh I don't know," Harry said casually, plopping down beside her. "Smuggling illegal dragons out of Hogwarts, helping a dangerous felon escape arrest on a Hippogriff…" Harry trailed off as the memories flashed through his mind.

"Playing with time," Hermione continued, her face alight. "Stealing from professors."

They both fell into silence and stared off into the distance without really seeing.

"Things will be different," Harry said after a moment. "Without Ron."

Hermione remained silent, and after a moment Harry heard her sniffle.

"I wish he'd change his mind," she said finally.

"Yeah."

Harry knew that he had made the right decision for himself, but he really wished that Ron would reconsider. Still, he had to wonder if his desire was for what was best for Ron, or himself.

"Hermione, I didn't know you were here."

"Ron," Hermione said, and Harry couldn't help but notice the way her face lit up when she saw him. He offered her a hand and pulled her to her feet, and Harry looked away casually as they embraced.

"Ready, Potter?" Ron asked after a moment.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Harry said, trying to mentally brace himself for the task at hand.

"Does Kreacher know?" Hermione asked as they made their way to the little kissing gate.

Harry nodded. "He's meeting us there."

"So," Ron began when they were out of range of the Burrow's security enchantments. "See you two there?"

Harry nodded, turned on the spot, and moments later he was standing in front of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Nerves ripped at his stomach as he thought about what he might find inside.

"Well, come on," Harry said when Ron and Hermione had appeared beside him. Together they mounted the stairs and pushed through the door. They stood quite still for a moment, each waiting with bated breath for Dumbledore's apparition to appear.

"Whaddya' reckon?" Ron asked after several tense moments passed.

Harry took a tentative step forward, Ron and Hermione close at his heels.

"The Death Eaters must have undone it," Hermione said after a moment.

"How?" Ron demanded, taking a more relaxed pace into the house.

"Well," Hermione said thoughtfully. "If it can be done then it can be undone."

"FILTH! SCUM! MUTANTS!"

"If that's true," Ron hollered at Hermione over the screams of Mrs. Black's newly awakened portrait. "Then you should be able to find a way to get _that_ off the wall."

"That's _different_, Ron," Hermione said after Harry had stunned the portrait. "That portrait was very likely hung using elf magic."

"So?" Ron shrugged. "What does that have to do…"

He trailed off as they made their way through the entrance hall and into the Drawing Room.

"Death Eater bastards!" Ron balled his fists savagely, his blue eyes scraping over every wall.

Harry could only manage a nod as anger pounded through his veins. Every wall of the Drawing Room was covered with pictures of himself, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, the Weasleys and every member of the Order. Insults of the most degrading, most revolting kind were written over them.

"Clever lot, aren't they?" Hermione asked as her eyes raked the walls. Suddenly her face paled. "Oh, that's…that's…"

"Disgusting." Ron looked ill. The wall that previously housed the Black Family Tree had been papered over using countless photos of death eaters in the act of torture. Harry took a step closer, feeling his own stomach grow traitorous. Men, women, and children, both magical and muggle, Harry was sure, were writhing and struggling in silent torment.

"Who would take pictures like these?" Hermione whimpered. "Who would keep them and hang them on the wall like art?"

"This was headquarters to The Order, and they knew it," Harry said, gripping his wand. "It's just another way to insult all of us, isn't it?"

"We'll have to save it all as evidence," Hermione said, still looking sick. "The Ministry should see this."

A sudden _**crack**_ rent the air, causing Hermione to shriek, and all three of them to pull their wands.

"Master Harry." Kreacher bowed respectfully in front of him, his white ear hair brushing the ground. "Kreacher has come from Hogwarts as you has instructed him."

"Kreacher," Harry said, trying to regulate his breathing. "Thank you for coming, you're right on time."  
"How have you been, Kreacher?" Hermione asked kindly. "Have you enjoyed your time at Hogwarts?"

Krecher seemed to struggle with himself momentarily, before he nodded to Hermione respectfully. "Yes, Miss Hermione, it was good to finish the work of Master Regulus. Kreacher has told the other elves all about his courage. Still, Krecher is happy to be home." He looked around the room, and his great, watery eyes didn't seem to register surprise at its state. "The cowards and braggarts. They has ruined the noble house of Black."

"Well Kreacher," Harry said, kneeling before the little elf. He noted that Kreaher seemed to of aged in the last month since he had seen him. "If you're feeling up to it, we were going to start working on making it right."

"Master…Master wants to fix the house?" Kreacher asked hopefully.

"Yes," Harry assured him. "And Kreacher, I've been thinking. Since you have faithfully served the Blacks for so many years, I think you should be rewarded."

"Rewarded?" Kreacher's eyes had grown even larger than usual.

"Yes. I want you to have Master Regulus' old room. I think he would have approved."

Kreacher's knees seemed to have gone weak, so Harry instinctively reached out a hand to steady him.

"Also," Harry continued, catching Hermione's eye. "I would like you to take any remaining Black family heirlooms that you might find in the house. _Any_."

Kreacher seemed too overcome to talk. His eyes filled with tears and with a pathetic squeal, he launched himself at Harry, wrapping his arms around his neck in a rather fierce embrace

"Thank you, Master," he bawled.

"You, ah, deserve them Kreacher," Harry said awkwardly. "I know you'll take care of them."

"Yes, yes." Kreacher nodded solemnly as tears coursed down his wrinkled face.

Hermione suddenly sighed dramatically. "You know it's a shame. We're going to have to use very powerful cleaning charms to get this place back in shape." She looked between Harry and Ron with troubled eyes. "I would really hate to see Mrs. Black's portrait damaged."

"My Mistresses' portrait damaged?" Kreacher asked weakly.

"Oh, we'll do all we can to prevent it," Hermione assured him. "But there's no telling what might happen. If only there was a way to move it."

Harry did his best to not smile. He had to hand it to Hermione; she certainly knew how to lie under pressure.

"I was worrying about that, too." Harry shook his head as if extremely frustrated. "But we've tried everything, you know. It won't budge. "

"If we could only move it to safety," Ron joined in, his face morose.

"Kreacher…Kreacher can move his Mistresses' portrait," the old elf said cautiously. "I can move it so it is not damaged by your magic."

"You can?!" Harry feigned delighted surprise. "Well…that would be all right, I guess."

"It won't be damaged, will it?" Ron asked, his voice theatrically concerned.

"Oh no," Kreacher assured. "Perhaps…perhaps Kreacher could…have his mistresses' portrait?"

Harry stared at Kreacher seriously for a moment, fighting every impulse to smile.

" Well I did tell you that you could have whatever Black family heirlooms we found."

Kreacher's watery eyes were transfixed on Harry as though he were afraid to blink.

"So I suppose you could have it. Only you must promise to keep it safe, _inside_ your room."

"Oh…oh Master," Kreacher croaked. "I do not deserve such generosity."

"Course you do," said Ron, patting Kreacher lightly on the shoulder. "You're a great elf."

Kreacher beamed at Ron, and Harry noted, so did Hermione.

"You may take it now," Harry said. "So we can get to work."

Kreacher scampered off immediately, and within moments they heard a loud sucking noise, as though a great drain had just been unstoppered.

"FILTH! MUTANTS! MUDBLOODS!"

Krecher passed the Drawing Room door for the stairs, and in his bony hands he carried the large portrait of Mrs. Black, who continued to hurl insults.

"Need a hand?" Harry called, as the elf passed.

"No, thank you Master Harry. I'll manage."

"Well," Ron said, looking about dubiously. "Shall we get to work?"

"Yes," Hermione agreed. "Only, it's too warm for this." She pulled her wooly jumper over her head, and as she did so, her shirt underneath rode up, revealing a sliver of pale stomach. Harry watched as Ron's eyes went immediately to the bit of exposed flesh and his ears turned red.

"Ready?" Hermione asked, tossing her jumper onto the dusty couch. Ron nodded enthusiastically. Harry had the feeling that Ron would have agreed with anything Hermione said at that moment.

"Harry? Ron? Hermione?" Ginny called from the front door of Grimmuld Place several hours later. She had heard all about the tongue-tying curse Moody had put on the home, and she wasn't anxious to experience it first hand. "Anyone?" Ginny took a tentative step forward, straining her ears for any noise.

"Gin?"

It was Ron and his voice seemed to be coming from several floors up.

"Yeah," Ginny called back and immediately cringed, waiting for Mrs. Blacks screeches to fill the air. They didn't come. "Is it safe? Can I come in?"

"It's safe," Harry's said, appearing suddenly in the entrance hall. Ginny had to work not to sigh. He was wearing a pair of worn jeans and an orange Chudley Cannons t-shirt that had been a gift from Ron. His hair was a mess, as usual, and although his glasses were coated with dust and grime, his eyes shone brightly behind them.

"Hi," Ginny said softly. Looking at him made her forget the horrible morning she'd had with George.

"Hey." He looked exhausted but happy. "I'm…glad you're here."

"Me too." Ginny's heart hammered against her chest so hard she wondered how Harry couldn't hear it. "Have you got a lot done?"

"Yeah," Harry said. His eyes were serious and focused entirely on her. It made her quite warm.

"So I've missed all the work, then? Pity that."

Harry smiled and shook his head. "Don't worry. We saved plenty for you to do." Then, with almost painful slowness, Harry leaned forward and shyly brushed his lips against hers.

"Oi! If you're done snogging my sister, there's still work to do!" Ron called suddenly from behind them. Ginny could have killed him. Harry's face burned bright red and he pulled away from Ginny so swiftly she nearly stumbled.

"Morning, Ron," Ginny hissed, pushing past him. "Wow."

The heavy curtains that once covered the floor to ceiling Drawing Room windows were now gone, and late-morning sunlight dazzled the room. The walls, Ginny could tell, had been mercilessly scoured, and fairly shone in their new cleanliness.

"Yeah," Ron said, leaning against the doorframe. "You should have seen it when we first got here."

Ginny only nodded. She could imagine what they must have found. "How's the rest of the house? What does it look like upstairs?"

"It's not too bad," Harry said, twisting his wand in his hand. "Sirius' room is almost a complete loss though. Hermione's still working on it."

"She'll get it sorted out," Ron said with absolute confidence.

"How did you get Mrs. Black's portrait down? I thought she had used a permanent sticking charm?"

"Kreacher did it," Harry explained. "I told him he could keep it safe in his room."

"His room?"

"Yeah," Harry looked slightly amused. "He's too old to keep sleeping in that moldy, old cupboard."

"Be careful," Ginny said dryly. "Hermione'll be making you a new Spew button."

Ron snorted loudly before arranging his face into a scowl.

"The house already looks amazing," Ginny said, ignoring him.

"Well, come see the rest of it." Harry motioned to the hall. "We almost have the downstairs sorted out."

Ginny spent the next half-hour following Harry from room to room and marveling over the difference. Where the house had once been dark, gloomy, and prison-like, it was now bright, clean, and although still quite grand, there was now something cozy about it. Ginny found herself appreciating the richness of the woodwork and furnishings, and the quality of the craftsmanship.

"It's lovely, Harry," she said when they finally went downstairs to the kitchen. "I even like your choice of artwork."

He followed her gaze to where the words 'Blood Traitors' flashed on the wall, and smiled.

"Compliments of the Death Eaters," he said. "I thought about removing it, but…" he shrugged.

"They thought they were being insulting."

"Yeah, but when have they ever got anything right?"

"Master Harry, lunch is ready for you and your miss," Kreacher said, appearing suddenly in the kitchen. Ginny hadn't even noticed the fresh scones and steaming soup.

"Hello Kreacher," she said politely. Harry had told her about the difference in Kreacher, and she had seen a little of it herself after the Final Battle, but she still was somewhat wary.

""Hello miss," Kreacher said, with a brisk nod.

"I'll just run and get Hermione and Ron," Harry said, turning to the stairs.

"Kreacher has already called them, Master," Kreacher croaked as he shooed them into seats at the long table. "They is coming."

"This is excellent, Kreacher," Ginny said after taking a tentative bite of her vegetable soup. "I didn't even realize I was hungry until now."

"Kreacher would have made more," the house elf said as Ron and Hermione entered the room, both suspiciously pink in the face. "But there is not much food left that he can use."

"I hadn't even thought about going to the market," Harry said, glancing around the kitchen worriedly. "Kreacher, could you please make a list of everything you think we need." He turned to the other three with a bemused expression. "I'm not even sure where to go," he said. "Do I go to a muggle market, or Diagon Alley?"

"Ron and I will go," Hermione volunteered suddenly. "I need to pick up a few things for myself anyway."

"But there's still so much work to do," Ron said, to the astonishment of everyone. "We can't just ditch Harry now. Ginny can go."

"Oh, thanks." Ginny narrowed her eyes at her brother who simply shrugged.

"No, Ron," Hermione persisted, giving him a very pointed look. "We'll go. We don't mind, do we?"

"Fine." Ron grabbed a scone from the middle of the table with unnecessary force and settled into a moody silence. Hermione, for her part, pushed her bowl of soup away and crossed her arms huffily. Ginny felt as though she had missed something.

"So," Harry said, glancing warily between his two friends. "Have the two of you picked rooms?"

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said, her face immediately brightening. "May I have the one just off the third floor landing? It doesn't seem to have belonged to any member of the family, and it has the most interesting shape…like a pentagon. Plus, it has three full walls of bookcases."

Harry shrugged. "Sounds like it's perfect for you."

"You're giving away rooms?" Ginny couldn't help but smile. It was so like Harry to want to share everything with his friends.

"Yes, but…" He glanced at Ron and Hermione and his face reddened. "I've already picked one out for you. I hope that's ok."

"I can't wait to see it," Ginny said softly, feeling warm all over. He had picked out a special room for her. She wanted to kiss him so badly.

"Oh Harry, when can I see _my_ special room?" Ron sang, batting his eyelashes at his friend.

"I would watch it," Harry said lightly, although his face had burned red. "Do you want me to bring up what I walked in on when you and Hermione were suppose to be working on Ginny's room?"

"Where's Kreacher," Hermione said loudly in an obvious attempt to change the subject.

"Kreacher is here, Miss Hermione," the elf said distractedly. He was clutching a long piece of parchment that trailed on the floor behind him, and he had a quill tucked behind one of his large ears. "I think I has remembered everything." He handed the immense list to Hermione.

"Mrs. Quinn's Quick Cleanup Spray, Window Wonder, Brittle Bugs-"

"Yeah, it sounds pretty thorough," Ron cut her off.

Hermione scowled at Ron and opened her mouth to respond, but Harry cut her off. "My money pouch is upstairs. I'll just go get it."

Harry fled the room and within moments Ginny wished that she had gone with him. Hermione was bouncing her leg in open annoyance as Ron sucked down his soup in stony silence. Ginny had to resist the urge to slap them both. How could they, after nearly eight years of bickering, have anything left to fight about?

"Here," Harry said, holding his money pouch out to Hermione. "I hope it's enough."

"Don't worry." Hermione weighed the bag in her hands. "I'm sure it's more than enough." She pushed back from the table and looked at Ron nervously. "Ready?"

Ron, who seemed startled by her gentle tone, put down his spoon and stood. Hermione shyly reached out and took Ron's hand, and the moment she did the tension seemed to drain from his body.

"Bye," Hermione said absently as Ron followed her from the kitchen, his eyes intense.

"What is with those two?" Ginny demanded when they had gone.

Harry sighed deeply and wiped a hand over his eyes. "I don't know. They're always bickering, which is normal but…" he sighed again.

"You're afraid that now they're together there's more at risk."

Harry nodded and took her hand.

"You should tell them, Harry," said Ginny gently. "Tell them that you're scared."

"I don't want to get involved," Harry groaned.

"Harry, it's Ron and Hermione. They're your best friends and they have been for _years_. Like it or not, you're involved."

"I just…I don't know. They've always gone out of their way to annoy each other…it's like a sport for them, but now there's so much more at stake."

Harry's green eyes were troubled, and Ginny wished there was a way she could banish his worries.

"They love you, Harry," she said softly. "And they love each other. They've worked too hard and waited too long to get to this point. They won't botch it up."

Harry climbed to his feet and held his hand out to Ginny. "Come with me."

Ginny took his hand and felt a marvelous thrill run up her arm. "Going to my new room?" She guessed.

Harry only smiled at her over his shoulder as he led her from the kitchen. After climbing four flights of stairs they finally arrived at a set of mahogany double-doors.

"It's ok if you don't like it." Harry pushed his glasses up nervously with his index finger. "Really. If you'd rather have another room that's all right with me."

"You picked this room for me?" Ginny asked, gripping the doorknob. Harry nodded. "Then this is the room I want. Can I see it?"

He hesitated for the briefest of moments before he pushed the door open.

It was like walking into another house. Pale green walls were alight with the afternoon sun, and a merry fire crackled in the white fireplace. There was a small, white vanity in the corner and it, along with the matching white wardrobe, appeared to be an antique. The canopy bed was topped with a decadent down blanket and plump pillows, and just looking at it made Ginny long to lie down. The impulse was so strong that she took Harry's hand and pulled him to the bed along with her.

"Gin, I don't know," he said hesitantly. It seems he was remembering the conversation they'd had on top of the broom shed. Ginny pushed the memory aside. She didn't want to remember that she didn't trust herself alone with Harry. She didn't want to think about the way he made her lose her head.

"It's ok, Harry," she said. "I just want to try out my bed."

He allowed her to pull him onto the bed, and she couldn't suppress a content sigh. The room was perfect. It was feminine, but not too fussy, and he had even got the color right. Ginny squinted at the ceiling. It seemed to sparkle. In fact, it _was_ sparkling. She peered closer and discovered with a swoop in her stomach that there were hundreds, if not thousands, of silver stars painted on the ceiling.

"Harry, what…what's on the ceiling?"

"Stars," Harry said, his face coloring. "They look real at night. It's kind of like the enchanted ceiling, but the stars don't change and it only works at night."

"They're beautiful," Ginny breathed, suddenly wishing for night. "How did you do this?"

"Hermione helped me," he admitted. "Do you like it?"

"I love it," she said, her eyes tracing over every glittering star. "It'll be like sleeping in the Astronomy Tower."

"Exactly," Harry said shyly. "Remember our first kiss, after Gryffindor won? Do you remember where we ended up?"

"The Astronomy Tower," Ginny said as memories of gripping Harry tightly as he kissed her breathless washed over her. He was so perfect.

"Yeah. The stars are painted in the exact place they were that night."

"What?" Ginny could hardly believe her ears. No one had ever done anything like this for her. "How?"

"Well, the stars move in a consistent pattern. We just had to figure out where they were that night."

Ginny stared at Harry for a moment, at a complete loss for words. She had loved him nearly all her life, and still she had not got use to how overwhelmingly strong her feelings for him were. She was torn between laughter and tears, and settled for a mixture of both as she flung her arms around him and kissed him with everything she had.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ron looked sideways at Hermione who was pouring over Kreacher's list. Her hair was pulled back in a messy plait, and curls were frizzing all around her face. Ron had to resist the urge to reach out and push one behind her ear. He felt as though he were riding on a Gringott's cart once again. One moment Hermione had him feeling as though he were on top of the world, and the next she had him dizzy and nauseated.

"Goodness, Kreacher wants a lot of potatoes," she mused aloud. Ron couldn't help but stare at her mouth and admire the way she formed her words. It had been one of his favorite hobbies since even before he knew his feelings for her ran deeper than friendship. She enunciated every word with perfect precision, and her mouth never seemed to slow or tire. Ron longed to kiss her and wished for the millionth time that there wasn't any strange tension hanging over their heads.

"There's a green grocer in Chelsea that I've heard Mum mention before," he offered without really thinking.

"Really?" Hermione squinted at the list and bit her lip. Ron watched intently.

"Uh huh," he said without really hearing.

"Well all right," Hermione looked down Charring Cross Road. "Shall we apparate or…it _might_ be fun to take the underground. What do you think?"

Ron shrugged. He wasn't in any hurry, and at least they were being occupied with a task.

Several minutes later they were seated and lumbering toward Chelsea on the clanging tube.

"So," Hermione began much too cautiously for Ron's liking. She adjusted her small, beaded bag, which was holding their purchases. "Auror training?"

"Yeah." Ron nodded, resigning himself to the conversation. "I leave first September, the same as you."

"Yes, only I'll be off the finish my education, and you'll be heading to Bracknell." Hermione said the name as though it were a dirty word.

Ron managed, with difficulty, not to roll his eyes. "Bracknell's not so bad."

"Why don't you want to finish at Hogwarts?" Hermione asked softly, glancing quickly at a pair of muggle teens sitting nearby.

"Why don't you want to be an Auror?"

"It's not the same, Ron." Hermione put a hand over her eyes for a moment, before meeting his gaze intently. "I never had any intention of being an Auror, so training to be one will in no way help me in the career I actually want. _But,_" she pressed on when Ron opened his mouth to interrupt. "Finishing school will only help you be a better Auror. Think of everything that we still have to learn!"

"Think of everything we already learned," Ron retorted. "It wasn't as though we were on holiday for the last year."

Hermione crossed her arms and slumped in her seat.

"You've never even considered being an Auror," Ron continued. "So how do you know you won't like it?"

"I have considered it!" Hermione's voice came out as a hiss. "But it's not what I want to do! Would you have me get into a career I don't really want just so I can follow you?"

"Well you might not want to be an Auror," Ron said, ignoring her question. "But you _do_ want to get into the Ministry to help magical beings. The Aurors could be your way in."

Hermione sighed and gazed out the window, watching the dark tunnel slide by. "It's obvious that we're not going to agree," she said at last. She turned in her seat and faced Ron fully, her eyes beseeching. "But that doesn't mean that things can't work, does it? We've been through much worse than a year apart, right?"

Ron's heart ached at the thought of not being near Hermione. Everyday, it seemed, he discovered more and more how very much she meant to him. It was a little frightening at times. Ron still couldn't pinpoint the moment that his feelings for her had begun to change. She had always been so bossy and impossible, stubborn and sensitive. But she was also brilliant, loyal, and beautiful. And even though she drove him mad, and even though she could provoke him to fight like no one else could, he liked who he got to be when he was around her. She made him better. She made him _want_ to be better.

He reached forward and cupped her cheek, and felt a deep sense of satisfaction when her eyes slid closed at his touch. "Just promise you'll write me all the time," he said. Hermione nodded, as tears slipped out from beneath her closed lids. "And promise you'll think of me each night before you go to sleep." She nodded again. "And promise that…never mind I'll make Harry promise me that one."

"What?" she demanded, opening her still wet eyes. "You'll make Harry promise you what?"

"To jinx any gits who might try to move in on you while you're there."

Hermione laughed and shook her head in exasperation. "It won't be the same without you there," she said softly.

"Of course it won't," Ron smiled. "Without me there to distract you, you'll be able to bully Harry and Ginny into studying all night and day, even on the weekends. Plus, the poor little First Years will be completely at your mercy. _You'll_ love bossing them around, though."

"I do not boss, Ron!" Hermione said, her eyes suddenly full of fire. "Just because I took my prefect duties seriously, doesn't mean-"

Ron leaned forward and silenced her with a lingering kiss, and vowed to himself that he would make the most of his last month with Hermione Granger.


	5. Of Age Students

A/N: Sorry it's been ten-billion years since I last updated! Shortly after my last update my second child made his abrupt entrance into the world, so needless to say I've been very busy. I will try to update much more frequently, but your patience is always appreciated! I hope this new chapter was worth the wait!***

* * *

**Of Age Students**

"_It's a fake! I swear it's a fake," Hermione sobbed. She was trembling at the feet of Bellatrix Lestrange, and willing herself not to vomit. She could never have imagined how painful the Cruciatus Curse would be. She had, of course, studied the curse extensively, going above and beyond what was required of her in Defense Against the Dark Arts. She had read survivor accounts on how the pain was like thousands of red-hot razorblades mercilessly slicing into your flesh. She understood that, given too liberally, the curse could actually cause permanent brain damage and even death. She also knew that even witches and wizards renowned for their strength had been reduced to begging for death under the Cruciatus. Still, nothing could have prepared her for being on the receiving end of the curse. _

"_You're a liar!" Bellatrix hissed. "Crucio!"_

_The world around Hermione disappeared and there was only the pain. She writhed, screamed, and called out incomprehensible gibberish. Without realizing, she dug her nails into the polished marble floor, and did not even register when several of them snapped back and broke off against the unrelenting surface. _

"_NOW TELL THE TRUTH OR YOU SHALL HAVE MORE!"_

_Hermione panted on the floor. Sweat was pouring down her face, and her whole body was trembling. Though she fought it, great shuddering sobs escaped her mouth as tears splashed down her face in a torrent. She wished they would just kill her. She hoped Ron and Harry would find a way to escape. She hoped that they would find her parents when it was all over._

"_It's a fake," Hermione cried, the functioning part of her brain telling her to stick to her story. "It's only a fake!"_

"_I think you need more convincing!" _

"_NO! PLEASE!" Hermione begged, as Bellatirx took aim. "NO! PLEASE, JUST KILL ME!"_

"Hermione!"

Hermione struggled against the hands on her shoulders, as her eyes flew open. "NO! NO!" she moaned weakly. Ron's face came suddenly into focus, and a quick glance about her surroundings told her that she was in her room at Grimmauld Place.

"Ron," Hermione chocked. It had only been a nightmare. It had seemed so real.

"You're all right," Ron soothed, pulling her against his chest. Hermione nodded, her face resting against Ron's shoulder. Every night her dreams pulled her back to either Malfoy Manor or the Final Battle. Truth be told, if she had to choose between nightmares, she preferred Malfoy Manor. Her dreams of the Final Battle always involved watching Ron and Harry die, and she always woke up sick to her stomach and afraid to go back to sleep. "Malfoy Manor?" Ron asked.

"Yes," Hermione managed, sitting up. She swiped at the tears on her cheeks and stared into Ron's troubled blue eyes. "I'm ok now," she said, feigning a calm that she did not yet feel.

"You're a terrible liar, Hermione," Ron said. "You always have been."

Hermione nodded. She knew she was. "Do you think there's something wrong with me?"

She stared at Ron knowing that she must look desperate. There had not been a single night since the Final Battle that she had not had a nightmare. The idea that she may somehow be damaged had been plaguing her for some time now, but she had been too afraid to voice it.

Ron tugged one of her frizzy curls gently before tucking it behind her ear. It was a gesture that Hermione had become quite accustomed with, although it still made her stomach delightfully warm. His blue eyes studied her face a moment longer before he sighed and looked away. "I really hate to be the one to tell you this," he began grimly. Hermione felt her heart sink. "But you're mad," he finished simply.

"I…what?"

"You're mad. Cracked. Touched in the head." Ron shrugged casually as though it were all quite simple.

"I…I am not," she said, glaring at Ron for his supreme insensitivity. "I think I'm holding up as well as to be expected after living through such a traumatic war. Everyone copes in different ways, and just because I'm having nightmares every night does not mean I've gone mad!"

"Oh, no, you've misunderstood me!" Ron hastened to explain, holding up his hands. "Of course the war hasn't made you go crazy! I didn't mean that. Honestly," he rolled his eyes, reminding Hermione strongly of someone she knew, although she couldn't put her finger on who. "I meant you're just crazy in general. Even before the war."

"What?!"

Ron grinned wickedly and patted her head with almost unbearable condescension. "It's ok," he said. "Harry and I have known for years and we don't mind. Hell, I even love it."

"Humph," Hermione crossed her arms and fell back against her pillows.

"No, really, it's dead useful," said Ron, his smiling face appearing above her. "Just think of how often your mad love of reading boring, ancient text books has saved us. Think of all the times you went crazy and told people off and slapped the hell out of Malfoy. You even beat sense into me when I needed it." He looked down at her, and Hermione saw that there was something different in his eyes now. He was no longer joking. "Think of how you trapped Skeeter in a jar, and lured Umbridge into the Forbidden Forest, and brewed illegal potions, and stole from professors, and still managed to be top of our class in every subject. Think of how you saved us at Bill and Fleaur's wedding, and how you saved us at the Lovegoods, and how you still kept your head enough to come up with a plausible story while you were being tortured. You're mad, Hermione. Mad and perfect and brilliant."

Hermione suddenly felt so full that she was afraid she might burst. She wondered how it was possible to love someone so much, and then she wondered how she had managed to keep it to herself for so long.

"There's nothing wrong with you," Ron continued, touching her face softly, though still a bit clumsily. "All your nightmares mean is that you're a good person who's still bothered by all the horrid things that have happened. They'll go away eventually."

"Are you still having them?" she asked, taking his hand and pulling him down onto the bed with her. He rested his head on the pillow next to her, and she could feel the warmth of his breath on her neck.

"Yeah," he admitted softly.

"What about?"

"You," he said simply. He picked up her hand and began to toy idly with her fingers. "And Fred."

"Oh."

"Hermione?"

She craned her neck to look down at him. His eyes were trained on the front of her nightdress. She felt her face go hot.

"Yes?" She failed to keep the tremor out of her voice. He dragged his eyes up to meet hers.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Ron," she laughed. She meant to say more but suddenly found her mouth busy. Ron had also made a habit of kissing her while she was in the middle of speaking, but she had no intention of complaining.

Unconsciously she rolled toward him, and he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her flush against him. Hermione's whole body felt as though it were on fire, and her blood pounded in her ears. She struggled with a sudden desire to wrap her legs firmly around his waist. He shifted slightly so that she was underneath him, and she relished being pinned by his weight. He broke his mouth suddenly from hers, and she couldn't help but moan as he began to trace kisses down her neck. She gasped when she felt his hand slide down her bare legs. This was more than they had ever done together, and Hermione could feel where it was heading.

"Ron, please," she whimpered, pushing her fingers into his hair. It was fiery, warm, and a bit coarse…much like Ron himself.

"Tell me, Hermione," he nearly growled, as his fingers lightly played up her inner thigh. "What do you want?"

Hermione nearly screamed in frustration. She knew what she wanted, but the rational part of her brain also knew that they were not yet ready to cross that bridge.

"We can't," she said as a wave of relief went crashing through her. She was glad to know that she still had some sort of control over herself. "Ron, wait. We can't."

He flopped over on his back, breathing heavily, his eyes closed.

"I'm sorry," she said, somewhat fearfully. "I just…I…" She didn't know why, but she suddenly found herself fighting an enormous lump in her throat.

"No, no Hermione, don't," Ron said, his eyes flying open. He sat up on an elbow and looked down into her face, his expression unashamedly protective. "You don't have to say sorry. I'll wait as long as you want me to."

"Yeah?" she asked faintly, wondering why she felt so raw. Viktor had tried to get her to take their physical relationship to another level, and Hermione hadn't had the slightest regret in telling him no. With Ron, however, it was different. She couldn't lose him, not for anything. She wondered if that made her desperate, and then realized that she didn't care.

"Yeah," he affirmed. His ears went red, and Hermione could feel the heat coming from him, but he held her gaze steadily. "I…I don't _**ever**_ want you to regret…not that. I want it to be perfect for you."

Hermione cupped Ron's face between her hands and kissed him gently on the lips. She felt that her love for him might crush her.

"But," he continued, sounding more like himself. "I do need to know the rules."

"Rules?"

"Yeah. You know, the things you spent the last seven years chasing after Harry and I quoting. Only, these rules will be just between us."

"Well nothing below the waist," Hermione said firmly.

"What about above the waist?" Ron lifted his eyebrows suggestively, and ran his hands lightly up her arms.

Hermione blushed, and felt adrenaline explode in her stomach. "Only on top of my clothes."

"Well," Ron stretched back on the bed and folded his arms under his head. "Feel free to touch me wherever you want."

"Ronald Weasley!" Hermione squealed, scandalized. He only grinned and shrugged as if to say that the offer still stood. Hermione snuggled into his side and caught the fresh scent of his hair, which was unique to him alone. It had been what she had smelled in her Aromentia. "I'm going to really miss you." She hadn't intended to say it, but found that she fervently meant it.

"Hermione," Ron groaned. He buried his face in her hair and held her more securely.

Suddenly the door bust open and Ginny stood there holding two steaming cups. "For God's sake!" She cried upon seeing them in bed together. "It's called a lock! This door has one! Look into using it!"

"OI!" Ron bellowed back, hurling a pillow at her. "It's called knocking! Look into it!"

"Ugh," Ginny looked suddenly ill. "I will from now on. Every time."

"Did you need something?" Ron demanded, as Hermione scrambled out of the bed and put on a dressing gown.

"Hermione," Ginny said, ignoring Ron. "We're going to be leaving in a half-hour. You hadn't come down so I came up to wake you." She held out a cup of coffee and Hermione felt a surge of affection for her.

"Thank you, Ginny," Hermione said, accepting the coffee.

"Where's mine?" Ron yawned, stretching out even more fully in Hermione's bed.

"When you manage to drag yourself out of bed you can get yourself some," Ginny snapped good-naturedly. "What are you going to do while we're gone, anyway?"

"I don't know," Ron shrugged, and yawned again.

"You could go with us," Ginny suggested, leaning against the doorframe. "George is in Hogsmeade this week. You can visit with him while we're at our meeting."

"That's a great idea," Hermione said, lighting up. "We can check in on how the rebuilding of the Hogs Head is going, and then we can have lunch at the Three Broomsticks."

"Yeah," Ron agreed, climbing slowly out of bed. As he padded across the room barefoot, Hermione couldn't help but appreciate the smattering of freckles he had across his bare chest. "I guess I could tag-along."

"Mum would have kittens if she saw you strutting around half-naked," Ginny noted with an arched eyebrow. "Especially if she found out that the bed you'd just climbed out of wasn't yours."

Hermione felt her stomach grow cold and she looked at Ginny, horrified. Ginny glanced at her quickly and shot her an almost imperceptible wink.

"Well Mum isn't going to find out, is she?" Ron growled, advancing on Ginny menacingly. "Or else a certain red-headed brat might suddenly find her alone time with Harry rapidly disappear."

"Yeah," Ginny snorted. "Right."

Ron shrugged. "I feel myself becoming a little high-maintenance…a little needy. I think I might need a lot more of my best friend's time."

"Oh shut it," Ginny laughed and motioned to the door with her head. "Get out and get dressed. The Three Broomsticks might not be posh, but I know that they'll require you to at least wear a shirt."

"Yeah, yeah," Ron said, stretching widely as he passed Ginny. "I'll see you two downstairs."

After he'd left, Ginny turned to Hermione, her eyes shinning. Hermione beamed, knowing full well why Ginny was so luminous.

"You liked it then?" she asked, pulling a pair of trousers from a drawer. The previous night she had moved over a few changes of clothes, as well as a few dozen books.

"It was…beyond perfect," Ginny sighed, her eyes dreamy. "I almost can't believe it."

"I know," Hermione said, pulling off her nightdress feeling a little self-conscious. "Who would have guessed Harry was so romantic. I couldn't believe it when he told me his idea."  
"You both did a good job. I felt like I was sleeping outside last night."

"Can I come see it tonight?" Hermione asked, pulling on a green, cotton shirt. "I didn't get to see it at night. We were just working with the theory of the charm and hoping for the best."

"Sure." Ginny sat gingerly on Hermione's bed and leaned against the wall. "It's really beautiful."

"So how are things going?" Hermione asked, trying to sound casual. "You know, with you and Harry."

By the way Ginny's face lit up, Hermione knew that she had asked the right question.

"Hermione," she said, her voice very near a whisper. "Is it weird that things are so perfect it's almost a bit scary? It's like, things have never been normal for us, and now that there's no Voldemort and no war, we can just be _us_. It's wonderful and it's strange."

"I know," Hermione agreed, thinking of Ron. "We don't have to live our lives between battles anymore."

Ginny nodded, and an embarrassed smiled slowly spread across her face. "Hermione…?"

"Yeah?" Hermione asked warily. She had seen that expression before, but on a much taller, much more male Weasely.

"I…well…I want to ask you something, but I don't want to embarrass you. I wouldn't ask because it's Ron," Ginny closed her eyes and shuddered for a moment. "But I don't have anyone else to talk about this stuff with. You really should have been more considerate and picked someone other than my brother to fall for!"

"Ginny!" Hermione blushed. "It's not as though talking about Harry with you isn't a little weird. Honestly, he's like _my_ brother." She blew out a breath and sat down on the bed, facing Ginny. "If I ignore the fact that you're talking about Harry, and you ignore that fact that I'm talking about Ron, then we can talk."

"Ok," Ginny nodded in agreement. "I guess I just wanted to know whether you and…your boyfriend had…you know."

"Oh." Hermione was sure that her face was bright red but she looked Ginny in the eye and shook her head firmly.

"Oh." Ginny looked away, her own face warm. "Neither have we."

"You haven't?" Hermione demanded, unable to keep the skepticism out of her voice.

"Hermione Granger! I am _not_ a…a scarlet woman!" Ginny's face was now almost maroon and her smile was mortified.

"No, I didn't mean it like that!" Hermione hastened to assure her. "It's only that, well you and Harry have been together for a lot longer than Ron and I."

"I thought we weren't mentioning names," Ginny said.

"Oh never mind that," Hermione waved her hand dismissively. "I just figured that by now you would have. I mean, I know how hard it is when you're so in love."

"There hasn't really been an opportunity," Ginny muttered.

"Would you…if there were an opportunity?"

"I don't know!" Ginny groaned and threw herself face first into Hermione's pillow.

"Have you talked to H-…your boyfriend about it?" Hermione watched as Ginny shook her head, face still hidden in the pillow.

"Maybe you should," she suggested gently.

"Have you talked to Ron about it, then?" Ginny demanded, sitting up.

"Yes," she admitted. "Just now actually."

"Really?" Ginny seemed impressed. "And…what did you decide."

"Er, we decided there would be no touching below the waist." Hermione wondered how her face hadn't caught fire yet.

"Yeah, I give that a month," Ginny laughed.

"GINNY!" Hermione cried. After a moment Ginny was able to pull herself together, wiping away tears of laughter.

"Come on," she said, standing. "Let's get downstairs before Harry and Ron leave without us."

* * *

Harry looked up at Hogwarts and wondered if everyone would find returning so painful. He imagined not. As he, Ginny, and Hermione walked up the wide, sloping drive, his eyes seemed to seek out the places where some of his worst memories had occurred. There, at the base of the Astronomy Tower, was where Dumbledore had landed. There was the entrance to the Whomping Willow where Snape had been murdered, and then he found the spot of lawn where he had watched Ginny attended to the wounded girl. There, at the spot, was the place where he had been certain that he was seeing Ginny for the very last time.

"It's all right, Harry," Ginny's voice was warm and soft on his ear. She squeezed his hand gently, and Harry ripped his eyes away from the piece of lawn, to look at her. Her eyes were soft with understanding, and her smile bracing. "Good things happened here too."

He wondered briefly if she could read his mind or if his thoughts simply showed on his face.

"Yeah," He said, as his muscles began to unclench. "Lots of good things."

"That's right," Ginny encouraged, her voice still soft, for his ears alone. "You met your best friends here," she reminded him.

"Yeah," Harry agreed again, his eyes resting momentarily on Hermione who walked slightly ahead. He suddenly wished Ron were with them. It would be a long, strange year without his company.

"Quidditch," Ginny continued, and he followed her gaze in the direction of the pitch. "Hagrid, The D.A."

"You."

Ginny's eyes snapped up to his own, and Harry reveled in the way his heart began to race.

"_You_," she corrected with a shy smiled. It still floored him when she looked at him like that. Like he was more than a pale, glasses-wearing teenager, who had had glory thrust upon him. Like he _really was_ The Chosen One.

Harry momentarily forgot where he was. He dragged Ginny to a stop, grasped her face gently, and kissed her very softly. She sighed a little, and wrapped her arms around his neck, preparing, he assumed, for a longer stay.

"Oi!," somebody shouted from behind them. "None of that!" Ginny broke their kiss and turned to glare at Seamus, Dean, and Neville, who were making their way up the drive grinning.

"Get stuffed," Ginny snapped. Harry shared Ginny's annoyance, but couldn't help but smile as he took in the light-hearted Gryffindors.

"All right, Potters?" Dean asked teasingly.

"Shut it," Harry said, pleased by the way Ginny's face flushed and she smiled despite herself. It was turning out to be a great day.

He sat, ten minutes later, sandwiched between Hermione and Ginny in the Great Hall. After an awkward and somewhat painful explanation of Ron's absence to Dean and Seamus, they had fled to the very last row of the chairs set up in the great hall. Hermione huffed in annoyance, and Ginny snickered in return. Harry was surprised that Hermione had not yet become dizzy from rolling her eyes so much. Since entering the Great Hall, they had been the objects of stares, whispers, and even open speculation.

"It is still considered rude to stare, right?" Hermione demanded, not bothering to keep her voice down.

Ginny smiled and waved sarcastically at a Hufflepuff across the room who was appraising her with interest. Harry had to remind himself that he wasn't allowed to curse people at will.

"Your attention please," Professor McGonagall called suddenly from the front of the assembled chairs. Harry felt a stab of alarm when his eyes fell on her. He had always known that McGonagall was on in her years, but he had never before considered her old. Suddenly, however, she was old. Her hair had grayed considerably, her face was pale and deep lines creased her papery skin. She looked exhausted.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts, I trust you have all been enjoying your well-earned holiday?" She met Harry's eye, and the ghost of a kind smile touched her mouth. Harry was relieved that at the very least, she still sounded strong.

"We are here, as you know, to discuss the return of last year's Seventh Year class to Hogwarts. Let me assure you that these circumstances are quite extraordinary, and never before has a class been required to return in order to finish their studies. Most of you, by now, are of-age, and therefore are no longer bound by the restriction for underage magic. However, if you choose to return to Hogwarts on the First of September, you will be required to abide by certain rules. As of-age students, we will not require you to reside in your house dormitories. You may if you like, of course, however, if you prefer to maintain residence off-campus, you may. Keep in mind however, that a strict curfew will be kept. If you chose to live elsewhere, you must be off the grounds by 9 pm every night. There will be no exceptions. Likewise you may not return to campus until breakfast has commenced. While you are on school grounds you will be held to the same rules as every other student. Do not expect preferential treatment, because it will not be given." McGonagall eyed them sternly for a moment, before her faced softened into not quite a smile. "Are there any questions?"

Harry was not surprised when Hermione's hand shot into the air.

"Miss Granger?"

"If we choose to live off campus, where will our appiration point be?"

"It will be just outside the gates at the end of the drive," the Professor answered clearly. She turned to the other students, her voice laced with warning. "You all must be certain to always apparate _outside_ of the gates. It is common knowledge that if you attempted to apparate into Hogwarts you would be unable to. Now, however, you will not simply come up against an impenetrable barrier. I must ask that you simply trust me, and always apparate safely outside the gates."

It was with a practiced eye that Harry recognized the significant look that passed between the headmistress and his friend.

"Any other questions?"

"What was that?" Harry demanded when Blaise Zambini raised his hand lazily.

Hermione turned to Harry with a very somber expression. "There are still Death Eaters on the run, Harry. The Headmistress has taken extra precautionary steps. Anyone trying to apparate into Hogwarts can expect much worse than splinching."

"Like what, exactly?"

"Shh," Hermione said simply, refocusing her attention on McGonagall. "I only have a theory."

"You'll share it later," it was not a request, but Hermione nodded anyway.

* * *

Ron pushed into the building that once housed Zonko's Joke Shop after five minutes of unanswered knocking and swearing. The small shop was dim and musty, with a thick layer of dust coating every surface. Ron could just make out George's outline against the far wall. He sat on the floor, his arms resting on his knees, and open bottle dangling from his fingers. Ron squinted down at his watch to verify that it was, indeed, only nine in the morning.

"Thanks for answering," Ron said, trying to keep his tone light. George continued to stare blankly ahead. "This is some place," Ron said after a moment of strained silence. George started and stared at Ron as though just realizing he was there.

"Ron."

"Hello," Ron said slowly, beginning to feel alarmed. George continued to stare, before he set his bottle down very, very gently.

"They always run out," he said woodenly, gesturing at the bottle. "Way before you can get properly pissed."

"The shop, George," Ron felt a change of subject was required. "It's going to be great."

"There's not going to be a shop," George responded, his voice nearly a whisper.

"What do you mean?" Ron demanded. "This was yours and Fred's dream.

"Exactly," Fred rasped, peering into Ron's face with desperation. "Mine _**and **_Fred's dream. Ron, I don't think I can do this on my own."


	6. Witness

A/N: Thank you for all the congratulations, reviews, and encouraging words! You folks are the best! As always, your input and constructive criticism is welcome.

* * *

**Witness**

The sun felt divine. After nearly freezing to death several times over the course of the last year, Ron found he was in no hurry to return to the Burrow where his mother would surely make him lunch. Besides, Hermione sat next to him wearing cutoff shorts and a sleeveless shirt, which was enough to make him forgive her for reading on such a glorious day.

"Good book?" he asked, trying to capture her attention. He allowed his eyes to once again wander down the length of her pale legs, before quickly returning them to her face, lest she catch him.

"Mmm," was her reply. Something on the page made her frown, and Ron noted with unexplainable pleasure the way her lips pouted out.

"Ron?" she asked.

Damn. She had caught him.

"Yeah?" he answered, pulling his eyes away from her lips and fighting to maintain a casual expression. Hang his ears, he could feel them turn traitorously red.

"What are you staring at?"

_Oh well, best to be honest_. "Your lips. I was just thinking how pretty they are." A thrill of victory shot down his spine as she blushed and a shy smile lit her face. He leaned forward slowly and strategically placed his hand on one of the legs he had been ogling, just as he touched his lips to hers. Hermione sighed and leaned eagerly into the kiss, nearly making Ron come undone. She had no idea the affect she had on him.

"I don't know how I'm going to go four months without seeing you," she said sadly, when they at last broke apart. "We've never been apart that long."

"So come with me," Ron said impulsively. As soon as the words left his mouth, he wished he could take them back. Hermione's back went rigid, and her face began to flush in an entirely different way. A very dangerous way. Ron braced himself for the telling off of a lifetime, but instead Hermione jumped abruptly to her feet and stalked off.

"Hermione," Ron groaned, climbing wearily to his feet to follow. He traced her around to the front of the house where he came to an abrupt stop. She stood talking to a very young man who was quite tall and not at all familiar. He wore formal black business robes, and carried a clipboard and quill. Hermione was clutching a piece of parchment in her shaking hands, and the look on her face was enough to draw Ron to her side in seconds flat.

"Who the hell are you," Ron demanded before he could think better of it. He positioned himself slightly in front of Hermione, an instinct picked up from months of constant danger. The young wizard in front of him appeared affronted for the tiniest space of a moment before he recovered himself.

"I'm Liam McCarthy," he said with a strong Irish edge. "I'm here on behalf of the Wizengamot."

Ron turned to Hermione, but she was still staring at the parchment with a look of shocked horror. Her lips, Ron noticed, were deathly white as they silently reread the words.

"What do you want?" Ron demanded, not caring that he was being rude to a Ministry Representative. "What have you done to her?"

The sound of alarm and anger in Ron's voice summoned Harry more affectively than accio, for he was suddenly coming down the front steps, his face guarded. Ron watched as his best friend's eyes quickly accessed the scene, before he took his place on the other side of Hermione, who he had ascertained to be the vulnerable one at the moment. With Harry and himself flanking her, Hermione seemed to collect herself a little.

"I'm to report to the Ministry tomorrow," she said in a stronger voice than Ron was expecting. "They're investigating the Malfoys for war crimes, and they would like to interview me. I'm to tell them about that night."

There was no need for Hermione to clarify which night she was referring to. Ron had again discovered her that very morning, thrashing around in her blankets and covered in sweat and tears as she begged Bellatrix Lestrange to kill her. The Malfoys had been there, and they had done nothing to help.

Ron opened his mouth to tell the Ministry bloke exactly where to go, but Harry's calm voice spoke instead.

"Who will interview her?"

"It was suppose to be Tara Noble, but Percy Weasley was adamant that it should be me instead."

"Percy wanted you to be the one? Why?" Ron stared hard at Liam McCarthy, challenging him to lie.

"Sarah's a bit...harsh with witnesses. They tend to be the most unreliable of all evidence, you see."

"Oh sod you," Ron roared, stepping toward the Wizengamot lackey without thinking. "Why should she talk to you if you're not going to believe her anyway?"

"Ron," Hermione said softly. "Calm down."

Ron took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Right. It would be illegal to beat a Ministry Employee senseless, even if he was asking for it.

"I didn't say we wouldn't believe her, Ron, is it? I just said Percy thought I would work better with Ms. Granger here."

"We're coming with her," Harry said with indisputable authority. "We could witness as well. We were there too."

"Yes, I read the briefing you gave to the Minister and Arthur Weasley," Liam said, flipping through his notes. "And your testimony will be required. However, since you were locked away during the time of the actual torture, your testimony on the act cannot be taken into account."

"We will be with her," Harry reaffirmed, his voice hard.

"You are more than welcome to accompany her, Mr. Potter, but she will be interviewed alone. On that there will be no negotiation."

Ron opened his mouth to bellow once again, but at that moment Hermione slipped her small, cold hand into his, and he felt all the fight drain from him.

"It'll be all right," he murmured, kissing her hair. "Harry and I will be with you. I don't care what he says," Ron spared a glare for the Ministry gopher who was barely older than they were. "We'll talk to Kingsley, he'll fix it."

"No," Hermione pushed her face into Ron's chest, but shook her head firmly.

"What?"

"No, I need to give them my testimony. The Malfoys deserve to go to prison for what they did. If I can help make that happen, than I need to do what I can."

Ron tightened his arms around her, and for a moment she allowed herself to be held. Too soon for Ron's liking, however, she pulled away and turned to face Liam with a familiar fire of determination burning in her eyes.

"I will be there tomorrow at nine, just as requested."

"Thank you, Ms. Granger," he said, smiling faintly. "I promise to try and make it as painless as possible."

Ron continued to glower at him until he had made his way out of the little front yard, turned on the spot and disappeared. When he had, Hermione slumped back against him, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger.

"I should go," she said softly.

"No you shouldn't," Ron insisted. "You should stay right here all day."

Hermione suddenly stiffened and glared up at Ron, obviously remembering his words from earlier.

"No, really, I think I'll go. I can help my parents at their office. The work will keep me busy. It'll keep me from thinking of other things."

"Well this is a bloody nightmare!" Ron snarled after Hermione had disappeared. He clutched his hair in tight fists for a moment before letting it go. It wasn't that he didn't want the Malfoy's punished. In fact, next to Umbridge and Greyback, there was no one he wanted punished more, but couldn't they do it without making Hermione relive some of her very worst memories? Death Eater headquarters had pretty much been at Malfoy Manor for the love of Merlin!

"We'll be called as well," Harry said after a moment. "It's only a matter of time."

Ron came to a sudden halt, frustration making pacing impossible. "Why should Hermione have to testify when _we_ can? We were there, who cares that we weren't in the room at the time? We heard Lestrange torturing her. We know the Malfoys did nothing to help."

"We know it, but we can't prove it." Harry sighed and impatiently pushed his untidy fringe from his eyes. "All we saw with our own eyes was Lestrange pulling Hermione away by her hair. We weren't there for the torture. We heard it, but we didn't see it. We didn't see with our own eyes if the Malfoys' attempted to intervene or not."

"They didn't try to help, Harry," Ron fought to keep his temper under control. "All they cared about was getting credit for handing you over to V-Voldemort. They watched Lestrange curse Hermione over and over and they-did-NOTHING!"

"I know that, Ron," Harry replied quietly, his face a tortured mask. "Don't forget that I was there too. I had to listen to her screams the same as you. I'm just being realistic. If you want The Malfoys to pay for what happened to Hermione, than she's going to have to testify. She was the only other person there in the room."

"No...no, she wasn't." Ron suddenly recalled the pointed, yellow teeth, and the strong smell of body odor and blood. Fenrir Greyback had been in the room as well. He could corroborate Hermione's story, but Ron wasn't sure that he wanted him to. Not if it meant Greyback got a reduced sentence.

"Greyback." Harry's voice was hard as he suddenly remembered as well.

"He has reasons to testify against the Malfoys," Ron said, his mind already running through several scenarios, none of which he liked.

"Yeah," Harry said grimly, thinking of the charges Greyback was facing, he was sure.

"He's lucky he never got to Hermione or Ginny," Ron said, rage and hate creating a hot and metallic taste on his tongue. "He wouldn't be alive now to face charges. As it was, Dean had to stop me killing him at the Final Battle. He will never put his filthy hands on Hermione again."

"What?" Harry demanded, his face a mask of shock and horror. "What do you mean Greyback will never put his hands on Hermione _again_?"

Unwillingly, the memory played through Ron's mind like a horror movie. Harry speaking the tabooed name, their tent being surrounded by Snatchers, and then Greyback wrapping Hermione in the vice of his arms as he quickly felt up her small body which trembled beneath his hands. It was enough to make Ron wish for just two minutes alone with him. Convulsively, his hands curled into tight fists.

"When the Snatchers came, before they dragged you out of the tent, Greyback got grabby with Hermione."

"That's when you yelled for him to get off of her," Harry said, seeing the memory in a new light.

"Yes," Ron confirmed. "He smashed my face in and turned back to her. I don't know how far things would have gone, but then he got distracted."

"Distracted? By what?"

"Your ugly face," Ron smiled weakly, feeling sick to his stomach. "That stinging jinx she put on you made you truly hideous."

Harry was silent for a moment before he let out a strangled howl of rage and punched one of the Burrow's haphazard walls. "The sick son of a bitch!" He swore.

"Yeah," Ron nodded. Harry's rage had the remarkable effect of calming him down. "Like I said, he's lucky Dean stopped me killing him. If he hadn't been there I would have..." Ron took a deep breath and let it out slowly once again. "He would be dead now, and I would have a clean conscience about it."

"What has Hermione said about it?" Harry asked after a moment.

"Nothing. I tried to ask her about it when we were at Shell Cottage, but she dodged the question and I let it go. I got the feeling it was something she would rather forget."

"So if we don't want Greyback to get a lighter sentence, then it will basically be The Malfoys' word against Hermione's?"

"Yes."

"It's not right," Harry muttered, his anger once again quieting to a low simmer. "After everything we've all been through, and now they're going to make us relive all the most awful moments."

"I hate them, the whole bloody family!" A sudden thought struck Ron. "Do you think Malfoy will be back at Hogwarts?"

"I don't know," Harry gasped, looking up in surprise. "I hadn't thought of that."

"I don't want him within a five mile radius of her, or any of us. The prick watched Hermione being tortured and didn't lift a finger to help!"

"Ron," Harry looked torn, hesitant. "I don't think Malfoy had any choice. I...I don't think he wanted to be there any more than we did."

"Are you defending him?" Ron didn't mean to whisper, but his voice failed him miserably.

"What he did-"

"What he did," Ron cut Harry off, his whole body trembling with rage. "Was become a Death Eater. What he did was let Voldemort's cronies into Hogwarts where they nearly killed Bill and the rest of us too. WHAT HE DID WAS TURN A BLIND EYE ON OUR _**BEST FRIEND**_ WHILE SHE WAS SCREAMING AND BEGGING FOR DEATH! THEN, WITHOUT BLINKING AN EYE, HE FETCHED HIS DEAR AUNTIE A NEW VICTIM! DO YOU THINK GRIPHOOK THINKS MALFOY'S INNOCENT?!"

"Voldemort would have killed him if he hadn't cooperated," Harry's voice was low and half-ashamed, as though he really didn't want to defend Malfoy.

"Then he should have died," Ron spat. "We all had choices to make, and he chose wrong."

"Not everyone's a Gryffindor, Ron."

The voice was like a bucket of ice water to his temper. Ron spun around to find himself face to face with his father.

"Dad!"

"You are all so very young," he continued as though Ron hadn't spoken. "I don't think you realize how rare you, Harry, and Hermione are. There are not many adults who would have knowingly assumed the risks that you three did so willingly. For most people, survival is a fundamental instinct that ranks above all else. Don't judge Draco based on your own courage, Ron. He was a seventeen- year- old boy, and he was scared. _He_ is the rule, son. You, Harry, and Hermione...you three are the exception."

The words sank slowly in, but Ron wanted to reject them. "What about Ginny? Luna? Seamus? Dean? _Neaville_? Are they the exception as well?"

"They were all courageous, son, but none of them were ever face to face with Voldemort, being forced to choose between obedience and the lives of their family members."

"So you don't think Malfoy should have to answer for his role in everything?"

"That's not what I said." Mr. Weasley sighed, and Ron was stunned to notice what was left of his red hair graying around his temples. "He did commit some serious offenses, and now he should face the consequences. I only meant to warn you against ordering judgment and fire down on him. Draco Malfoy didn't follow Voldemort because he was evil. He followed Voldemort because he lacked your courage."

Ron opened his mouth to argue, but Mr. Weasley held up his hand to silence him.

"I've no interest in defending Draco Malfoy against you, Ron. Just think about what I've said."

And think about it Ron did. After Harry had returned to London, Ron lay awake late into the night, Draco Malfoy's face swimming before his eyes. For the first time in his life, Ron willingly did something that he had always tried to avoid in the past: he considered himself in comparison to Malfoy. The most obvious differences were easily named. Draco was obscenely wealthy, whereas Ron didn't have two knuts to rub together. Draco had grown up with intimate knowledge of every luxury the world had to offer: a fabulous palace of a home, the newest and fastest racing brooms, the most stylish robes, and exotic holidays. Ron lived in a converted pigpen, wore hand-me-down robes, rode a hand-me-down broom, and had only been abroad once.

Yet for the first time, Ron did not view these differences with resentment. As he peered into the darkness, Draco's face was replaced by the faces of Hermione and Harry. Next, his mum and dad. Then, one by one he saw the faces of his brothers, Percy included. Ginny came last, but accompanied by a fierce burst of affection. Memories followed swiftly; A collage of Christmases, birthdays, Bonfire Nights, and Easters. In each memory there was laughter, warmth, and belonging. He watched Hermione and Ginny whisper in a corner with his mum. He watched Harry explain the principle behind an electric razor to his father, as they sat in front of a cheerful fire. He recalled himself, surrounded by Fred, George, and Bill, having a laugh at Charlie's expense as Celestina Warbeck warbled in the background. It was cliché, but Ron knew that although the Weasley's had never been wealthy financially, they had been rich in other, more important ways.

He tried to imagine the Malfoys sharing a laugh over Christmas tea, but the image wouldn't come. He couldn't imagine Mrs. Malfoy lovingly preparing a Christmas feast, nor could he imagine Crabbe or Goyle agreeing to spend their holiday sleeping on a camp bed. Draco Malfoy may have had a lot of money, but it certainly hadn't bought him the things that really mattered.

As night gave way to dawn, Ron saw himself and his life in a new light. He, Ronald Weasley, was the lucky one, and he always had been. He had grown up sheltered and protected by parents who were brave and good, and who loved him as well as each other. He had siblings who had proven that they would stand by him through any trial, and fight by his side in any battle. Even Percy, Ron was forced to acknowledge, had returned determined to somehow earn his forgiveness. Then of course, there were his best friends. Both of whom loved him for exactly who he was, both of whom challenged him to be his best, but forgave him when he was at his worst. For all the things Ron had always felt he lacked, love had never been one of them.

As the sun broke over the far horizon, Ron decided that although he still felt Malfoy should be punished for his crimes, he no longer felt the bloodlust of just a few hours prior. Draco Malfoy had transformed in his mind overnight. Ron could now see that his boasting was blatant insecurity, and his arrogance was a poor mask for jealousy. Draco Malfoy would never know the depth of loyalty and devotion that Ron had experienced. He would never have a friend like Harry, a true love like Hermione, or a family like the Weasleys.

Surely there was some justice in that.


	7. Muggle Pubs

**Muggle Pubs**

Harry tapped his foot impatiently, wondering for what seemed the millionth time what could be taking so long. Beside him, Ron sat on the edge of his chair, his posture rigid, and his eyes fixed on the door Hermione had disappeared behind. It had been hours since they arrived at the Ministry, but to Harry it might have been days or possibly weeks.

"What could be taking so damned long?" Ron demanded suddenly, voicing Harry's thoughts. He pushed himself anxiously to his feet and began to pace the length of the short hall.

"Can't be much longer," Harry said bracingly. After all, how much more could Hermione have to say? How many more details could they drag out of her?

Ginny, who sat on his right, cleared her throat quietly. She sat with her arms and legs crossed tightly, her face pale and drawn. Upon arriving at The Ministry she had accompanied Mr. and Mrs. Granger to her father's office and, with Hermione's blessing, they had been briefed on all that Hermione, Harry, and Ron had endured at Malfoy Manor. Harry had not told Ginny any of the more unpleasant details of their hunt for Horcruxes, and he knew that Ron and Hermione had been silent on the issue as well. Ginny had joined them from her father's office looking slightly ill, and had been uncharacteristically quiet ever since.

"Hermione!"

Harry glanced up in time to watch Ron swallow her up in a protective embrace. When he finally released her, Ron searched her face carefully, his hands resting on either side of her neck.

"All right?" He asked gently.

"Let's go," she said quietly, her face wan.

"A moment, Miss Granger?" Liam McCarthy had emerged from the small interview room, a quill stuck behind his ear and his robes open at the neck. Harry watched Ron's shoulders stiffen as Hermione turned back to him.

"Yes?" she asked, her voice weary.

"I…I just wanted to say that I know how hard this must have been for you, and I really respect you for doing what was necessary. "

Ron's scowl turned into a look of grudging pride. Hermione's pale face colored slightly as she smiled her thanks.

"Also," Liam continued. "If there's anything you need, anything that I can assist you with, please don't hesitate to call on me. My door is always open to you."

"Thank you," Hermione repeated, as Ron's face transitioned back to a mask of open hostility.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger met them in the Atrium in front of the Memorial Wall. They looked both saddened and touched as they watched the faces and names go by.

"Hermione," Mrs. Granger nearly whimpered when they appeared. She pulled her into a protective embrace as Mr. Granger wrapped an arm around both his wife and his daughter. For a moment the little family embraced.

Harry looked away not wanting to intrude on their moment, and wondered how rude it would be to flee altogether. He feared the accusation he would see in the eyes of Hermione's parents when they had a moment to realize that he was still there. They now knew the extent of Hermione's suffering, and that it had been the direct result of her friendship with him.

All too soon the family broke apart, and Harry's fears were confirmed as Mr. Granger approached he and Ron, but his eyes were merely grave rather than accusing.

"Thank you," he said, his voice deeper than Harry remembered. "The two of you could have simply fled when you escaped from that cellar, but you didn't and my daughter is alive because of it. Hermione's mother and I will never be able to thank you enough."

Harry tried to think of something reassuring to say, but he nothing would come through the shock. It was Ron who stepped forward, his face equally grave, emanating a maturity Harry had never seen in his friend.

"You don't need to thank us, sir." He said, his voice steady. "We could never have left Hermione there. Not for anything."

Mr. Granger scrutinized Ron for a moment, his gaze appraising. For his part, Ron held Mr. Granger's eyes, his posture somehow formal. Harry noted with slight amusement that although Ron was trying not to betray any insecurity, his ears had turned characteristically red.

After several more moments of their silent showdown, Mr. Granger nodded his head solemnly and held out his hand for Ron to shake. Ron smiled, elated with relief, and shook Mr. Granger's hand enthusiastically.

"Harry," Mr. Granger offered him his hand next, which Harry accepted, feeling his own rush of relief. Hermione's parents didn't hate him for endangering their daughter. It seemed almost impossible.

"Now that this war is over we hope to have you boys around our place more often," Mrs. Granger said as they began to make their way to the lifts that would deposit them on the London streets above. "You are, of course, invited as well Ginny," she added, smiling warmly at Ginny. Harry noted that Mrs. Granger's two front teeth were slightly larger than the rest of her teeth, just as Hermione's had been.

"That would be fun," Hermione said, her face brightening. "You could come for dinner tonight!"

"Er, Hermione? We promised Neville, Dean, and Seamus that we would be at the Dancing Shamrock tonight, remember?" Harry said, feeling immensely guilty. Seamus had insisted at The Wall Dedication that they have a Hogwarts bloke's night to celebrate the end of the war, and Harry and Ron had given their word that they would be there.

"Right," Hermione muttered, looking slightly hurt and disgruntled. She didn't like being left out.

"We'll skip it," Ron offered, and Harry nodded enthusiastically.

"Of course we'll skip it," he added for good measure. Hermione had, after all, spent the last year living in a tent in order to help him. The least he could do was cancel plans with Dean and Seamus to be there for her in her time of need.

"No, no," Hermione waved away their offer. "You should go. You'll have fun."

"Well who needs them?" Ginny asked suddenly, smiling brightly. "Why don't we have a girls night, Hermione?"

"Really?" Hermione asked, leading the way into the cramped phone booth. "That's a brilliant idea!"

"What do you man a girl's night?" Ron laughed, looking skeptical. "You mean you're going to laze about and charm your nails and talk about us?"

"Actually," Ginny said, turning to Hermione with a pleading expression. "I was hoping we could do something away from the Wizarding World for one night. Could we go to the Cinema or something?"

"The cinema?" Ron laughed again, pushing the booth door open and allowing the Grangers to exit first. "Glad to see Muggle Studies worked out for you."

"I'll have to check what's out," Hermione said thoughtfully, thoroughly ignoring Ron. "I haven't been to the Cinema in ages."

"There's a film out now called 'Ten Things I Hate About You'," Mrs. Granger offered. "It's a romantic comedy and it seems geared toward kids your age."

"Oh that would be perfect," Ginny sighed, and Harry made a mental note: She liked romantic comedies. "With everything that's happened over the last year, something light is just what I'm in the mood for."

"Oh Harry, why don't you ever take me to see romantic films?" Ron demanded, slapping Harry smartly on the arm.

"Because I keep telling you, you're not my type," Harry said, kicking one of Ron's feet into the other as he walked. Mr. Granger laughed loudly when Ron stumbled.

"Oh no?" Ron demanded when he had regained his footing. "I thought you liked redheads? You just know I'm out of your league!"

"If you two are done?" Hermione and Ginny had stopped walking and stood next to a smart looking black sedan, wearing identical expressions of indulgent affection. "Ginny's coming with us, so we're going to say goodbye now."

"What?" Ron looked around, confused. "Are you taking her side-along apparation? How are your mum and dad getting home?"

"We're driving, Ron," Hermione explained patiently. "This is our car."

"Oh, yeah…" He smiled sheepishly. Harry looked away just as Hermione leaned up to kiss him, her face indecently sappy.

"Are you going to be coming home completely pissed tonight?" Ginny asked softly, her eyes amused. Merlin's beard she was standing close, Harry could smell her lovely, flowery fragrance.

"Huh?" he asked, lost in how pretty the freckles across the bridge of her nose looked.

"Tonight," she repeated. "Will you be coming home to Grimmuld Place completely pissed?"

"Uh…no?" he said, his eyes following the trail of freckles up to her forehead. Impulsively, he leaned forward and kissed one just above her left brow bone. She laughed softly, buried her face against his chest and shook her head.

"You didn't hear a word I said, did you?" she asked. Harry looked around swiftly to make sure they weren't being watched before kissing the top of her head. Her hair felt like silk against his face.

"You asked if I would be coming home pissed," he told her quietly, wishing he could snatch her away to someplace very private, wishing they hadn't decided they couldn't trust themselves alone together.

"You didn't look like you were listening," she looked up at him, but Harry was thrilled that she still kept her body aligned to his. It made him feel slightly bold.

"You're beautiful," he blurted, wishing he were a bit cooler.

Ginny smiled brightly, and so swiftly Harry almost wasn't sure that it actually happened, she wrapped her hand around the back of his neck, pulled him forward and planted a quick but enthusiastic kiss on his mouth.

"Goodbye for now," she said breathlessly. And without another word, she turned and climbed into the back seat of the Granger's shinny sedan. As the car pulled away, Harry thought he saw Hermione turn in her seat and smile at him loftily through the back window, but he couldn't be sure.

"Ready?" He asked Ron who was still watching the Granger's car glide away.

"Huh?" He asked, seeming to just remember that Harry was there.

"Ready to go?" Harry asked patiently. He knew only too well how distracting a girl could be. Even with everything that was going on, Ginny seemed to be on his mind ninety-eight-point-nine percent of the time.

"It's still a little early," Ron noted, checking his watch. "Wanna head to Seamus' place now?"

"You reckon there'll be photographers?" Harry asked. The last thing he wanted was his face on the cover of another Witch Weekly.

"Definitely," Ron shrugged. "But they're everywhere, aren't they?" Ron jabbed his thumb over his shoulder and Harry followed it to where a man sat on a bus bench seemingly lost in a book. Only now that Ron had pointed him out, Harry realized that the man was wearing track pants with a crisp white business shirt, and that his book barely disguised what was quite obviously a magical camera.

"Anyway," Ron continued. "We can get a bite there, I'm starved. "

"Fine, let's go then." Harry glanced over his shoulder and discovered that their follower had abandoned all pretenses and was now openly snapping picture after picture of them. Small clouds of dense purple smoke kept rising from the camera. "Down here, quick!"

Harry led the way down a narrow side street, glancing over his shoulder several times. "Let's just apparate directly into the Leaky Cauldron and then go to Seamus' straight away."

"See you there," Ron said before turning on the spot and disappearing.

"…I don't like to brag, but that's what I've been told. So if you're ever in Leeds, look me up."

A pretty brunette wearing tight robes was telling Ron when Harry arrived. She smiled coyly at him as she pressed a piece of parchment with her name and address into his hand.

"I…I've got a girlfriend," Ron stammered, red in the face. He tried handing the parchment back, but she just giggled and shook her head.

"And I know how to keep my mouth shut," she said suggestively. "Just keep me in mind should you ever be in the area."

With that she turned and walked away, his hips swaying dramatically.

"Bloody fuckin' hell," Ron swore when the young witch had disappeared. His face was so comically shocked that Harry laughed out loud. "She just said…that…well…that she'd shag me!"

"She just came out and said it?" Harry demanded. Wow, he had missed that part.

Ron nodded his head, beginning to look more scandalized than shocked.

"Nice girl," Harry said dryly. "Really wholesome."

With that Ron threw his head back and laughed heartily. "Bloody hell," he said again. "Is this how it's going to be from now on? "

"Dunno," Harry shrugged, sincerely hoping not. "But I wish Hermione had been here for that. And we thought Aragog was scary!"

Ron paled slightly and shuddered. "Let's get out of here," he said hoarsely, looking about the pub wildly as if expecting Hermione to jump out at him.

"Need a drink?" Harry laughed.

"A strong one."

* * *

"Wow," Ginny said for what felt like the hundredth time. She let her eyes slide from the mahogany table large enough to comfortably seat twelve, to the various tribal statues that rested on the intricately carved fireplace mantle. Ginny had always known that Hermione's parents' were dentists with a private practice, but she had never really equated that with them having money. Hermione was just so down to Earth and unassuming, a trait that had obviously been picked up from her mum and dad. Now standing in their home, however, Ginny was forced to realize that the Granger's had money and plenty of it.

"Mum and Dad were given those over the years," Hermione said matter-of-factly, gesturing at the statues. "They sometimes do work abroad for Dentists Without Borders and those were gifts from some of the tribes they've worked with."

"Wow," Ginny said again, before laughing.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, smiling along.

"It's just…I never realized you were so posh, Hermione."

"Mum and Dad do all right, but we're definitely not rich," Hermione laughed, pink in the cheeks.

"Your house is huge," Ginny said, as Hermione led her into what had to be a library. Every wall was lined with shelves that were bursting with books. "And beautiful."

"Thank you," responded Hermione somewhat wistfully.

"What?" Ginny asked as Hermione fell heavily into one of the large leather arm chairs that sat in front of yet another handsome fireplace.

"This house _**is**_ huge," she said, gesturing needlessly at the cavernous library. "And it's only Mum, Dad, and me. I've always felt so lonely here."

"Oh," Ginny fell into the other armchair and considered what Hermione had said.

Growing up she would have given anything for a few moments of solitude, but at The Burrow that had been impossible. With so many of them in such a small space there had always been someone going in and out of every room in the house. She had never considered what it might be like to have the opposite be true. To have a house so large, and a family so small, that solitude wasn't a luxury, but a way of life. No wonder Hermione had learned to love reading so much. It at least provided companions, even if they only existed on the pages of a book.

"Well how about a couple of days a week we swap rooms?" Ginny suggested. "You can have your fill of no privacy and noise, and I will have my fill of solitude and order?"

"That's how I've managed to survive for years," Hermione smiled. "I love The Burrow!"

"Hermione, darling?" Mrs. Granger called. "Oh there you are. I've just checked the film times for you. There's a showing at eight, so you and Ginny have time to freshen up a bit and have a bite to eat with your father and I before you go."

"Perfect," Hermione said standing. "Do you want to see my room, now?"

"Of course," Ginny said, already imagining a room much like the one they were in, only with a bed. She followed Hermione from the library, and up two flights of stairs to the third floor, where Hermione pushed open the last door at the end of a long hall.

Hermione's room, like every other room in the house, was large. There was what appeared to be an antique wrought iron bed that sat against the wall opposite the door, made up with a pale white quilt embroidered with yellow flowers. Next to the bed stood what also appeared to be an expensive, white antique nightstand, upon which stood a framed picture of Hermione, Ron, and Harry standing in front of the Burrow the summer of the Quidditch World Cup. Ginny's heart seized for a moment, because in the background she could just make out Fred, who kept throwing his head back, laughing perpetually at some long forgotten joke.

Ginny ripped her eyes away and crossed over to Hermione's old, white dresser where more framed photos stood, and immediately spotted herself in one. It was of she and Hermione in the Great Hall at the Halloween Feast her Fifth Year. She and Hermione had their arms wrapped around each other's shoulders, and they kept waving and smiling happily at the camera.

"I want a copy of that," she said, after examining several other pictures of Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "I don't even remember taking it."

"Nor do I," Hermione said, pulling on a green, sleeveless shirt. "Colin gave it to me at the end of Sixth Year, along with a few others."

"Oh," Ginny said, looking at the picture with a new appreciation. "Well don't you look nice," she said to steer things to a happier place.

"Really? Thanks," Hermione said around a hair band she was holding between her teeth. She quickly pulled her curly hair back into a messy plait, locks already pulling loose and frizzing around her face. The effect was flattering. "It'll do for the cinema, anyway."

Ginny stood and examined herself in Hermione's mirror, feeling slightly disgruntled. She usually didn't fuss too much about how she looked, but there was something about going out in the Muggle World that made her want to present her best face.

"Do I look all right?" She asked, eyeing her simple jeans and white, cotton t-shirt critically. "I won't stand out, will I?"

"You look the perfect Muggle," Hermione assured her. "Let's get downstairs and see what Mum's knocked together."

As it turned out, Mrs. Granger was a good cook, and Ginny found herself liking the Grangers more and more as they told her funny stories about Hermione growing up, and listened to her stories with genuine interest.

After Ginny had eaten her fill of pork chops and applesauce, she and Hermione helped Mr. Granger clear the table as he told Ginny the story of how he and Mrs. Granger had met at university. By the time they were finished, Ginny was quite sorry to be on her way.

"We do hope you come visit again soon, dear," Mrs. Granger said for the third time in just as many minutes. "It was lovely having you."

"I'll definitely be back soon," Ginny assured them with a smile, knowing it was true. "Thank you so much for having me."

"I'm so excited," Hermione chirped ten minutes later, nearly skipping down the street. "It's been ages since I've seen a film!"

"I've only ever seen one," Ginny told her, remembering how excited she had been her Third Year. "In Muggle Studies we watched _'The Never Ending Story'_. I loved it."

"Oh," Hermione sighed. "That's one of my favorites."

Ginny was only half listening, for on the corner they were swiftly approaching was a cluster of five young men, all of whom had their eyes trained on her and Hermione.

"Oh Merlin," Ginny groaned as they pushed off the wall to block the sidewalk. She reached into her pocket and fingered her wand, just to reassure herself that it was there.

"Lovely," Hermione murmured softly, having finally spotted the small gang. Ginny watched as she too reached into her pocket.

"Hello ladies," a tall blond, who seemed to be the leader of the little group, said. "Where are you lovely birds headed this fine evening?"

"We're meeting our boyfriends at the cinema," Ginny answered, trying to be polite and yet not in any way encouraging.

"Isn't that a coincidence?" A heavy-set, dark haired boy spoke up. "That's where we're headed as well."

"Wonderful," Hermione said, a slight sarcastic edge to her voice.

"I'm Jordan by the way," the blond said, offering Ginny his hand. Thinking fast, Ginny slapped her hand over her mouth and pretended to sneeze.

"Cho," she said, grasping at the first name she could think of. "And this is Lavender."

"Cho and Lavender," their smaller, dark-haired friend said from Hermione's right. "Pretty names for pretty girls."

"Er, right, thanks," Hermione said, very pink in the face. "Well, we don't want to be late!"

She gripped Ginny by the arm and together they fled down the sidewalk, the boys walking several paces behind. As soon as they had made it to within eyesight of the cinema, they burst simultaneously into laughter.

"Cho and Lavender?" Hermione demanded through her laughter. "Of all the names in the world you choose our boyfriends' ex-girlfriends' names?"

"They were the first ones I could think of," Ginny wheezed, clutching a stitch in her side. "'Pretty names for pretty girls'," she repeated in a bad imitation of the boy's voice. "Where do they learn such rubbish lines?"

"Maybe there's a book that coaches them how to compliment girls," Hermione laughed. "You know, for those who are truly clueless."

"Yeah," Ginny laughed, as they slid into the line for tickets. "It's probably mandatory for every member of the male gender to read it. Honestly, I've heard the same lines a hundred times."

"I didn't know God let his angels fly so low," Hermione said, looking soulfully into Ginny's eyes, before dissolving again into laughter.

"How about, 'Are you tired? Because you've been running through my mind all day.'"

They continued to repeat to each other the best pick-up lines they had heard all the way until they were seated and the previews were rolling. By the time the opening credits appeared, Ginny's stomach was aching from laughter.

"So?" Hermione asked Ginny nervously two hours later. "Did you like it?"

"Yeah, it was really sweet," Ginny said as she stood and stretched. "Not as good as _'The Never Ending Story'_, but, you know, it was cute."

"I liked it too," Hermione said as they began to file out. "I'm glad I came to see it with you and not Ron and Harry, though."

"Yeah," Ginny laughed. "I imagine being best friends with two boys does have its drawbacks at times. Good thing you have me for all your chick flick needs."

"Oh Ginny, you have no idea how you've helped to keep me sane over the years," Hermione sighed as they stepped out of the theatre. A light rain was falling and Ginny turned her face up to it. "I could talk to you about things that I couldn't talk about with Harry and Ron."

"Like Harry and Ron?" Ginny asked, laughing.

But she understood completely as she recalled all the late night chats she and Hermione had had over the years. Her crush on Harry had been painfully obvious to everyone who knew her, however it was to Hermione that Ginny first confessed that her feelings for him actually ran much deeper. She had been terrified that Hermione would laugh, that she would dismiss her feelings as a schoolgirl infatuation, but she hadn't. Hermione had nodded understandingly and had listened to her sympathetically. It had been Hermione's idea that Ginny should date other boys, that she should-not let go of Harry- but put her feelings for him on hold temporarily, as much as that was possible. It had been Hermione who knew that if Ginny were able to just be herself around him, he would be sure to sit up and take notice.

As usual, she had been correct.

"I give you a lot of the credit for Harry and I being together, you know," Ginny said softly as they made their way back to the way they had come. "I might still be a mumbling, clumsy idiot around him if it weren't for you."

"No," Hermione said, although she couldn't hide her pleased smile. "I think you just had to grow up a bit. We're all a bit silly about the boys we like when we're young."

"You never were," Ginny contradicted. "I never even knew that you fancied Ron until you told me your Fourth Year."

"That's because I didn't know it myself," she sighed. "Not really." She narrowed her eyes straight ahead, as though she could see something that wasn't really there. "I've always loved Ron," she explained. "So when that love…changed…it took me a bit to figure it out. It was quite a shock when I realized I loved him in a completely different way than I loved Harry. It was a bit frightening. There was so much more at stake."

"Yeah I know," Ginny laughed. "I remember thinking that if Harry decided that I was pathetic after all, that I would still have to see him all the time because he's Ron's best mate. I used to torture myself wondering how badly it would hurt to watch him move on from me. To watch him marry someone else…have children with someone else."

"Ugh," Hermione rolled her eyes as she stepped over a puddle. "When I think back over all the angst and uncertainty it just about makes me sick."

"I know, it's amazing we survived with our sanity."

"Your brother was determined to drive me round the bend," Hermione said, her face half amused and half chagrined. "Just thinking about it makes me…I don't know…?"

"Need a drink?" Ginny suggested, half joking. To her utter astonishment, Hermione's eyes lit up.

"That's perfect," she said, a little breathlessly. "Yes, why don't we?"

Ginny felt her eyebrows rise almost involuntarily. "Hermione? You are Hermione, right?"

Hermione threw her head back and laughed more freely than Ginny had ever heard her. "Come on, Gin," she said. "I don't know about you, but I could use a little break from doing the responsible thing. I don't want to be sensible tonight."

Ginny studied her friend for a moment, and behind the smile, Hermione's eyes were pained…or somehow older than her eighteen years. Suddenly she remembered what she had heard in her father's office that morning. What Hermione, Harry, and Ron had suffered through at Malfoy Manor was beyond horrifying. What made it worse was knowing that they had even more horror stories that they hadn't shared, horror stories that were, perhaps, worse than Malfoy Manor. Ginny shuddered.

"Yeah, all right, let's," she conceded with a shaky laugh, hoping that Hermione couldn't read the distress on her face. "Only let's keep it Muggle. The boys are at The Shamrock and I don't want to run into the press at the Leaky Cauldron or Three Broomsticks."

"Right," Hermione said, looking giddy again. "I don't know any Muggle pubs, do you?"

Ginny gave Hermione a pointed stare that sent her into a fresh peal of giddy laughter.

"Of course you don't," she amended with a smile. "Obviously."

"Let's just walk toward the center of town and see what we find." Ginny suggested, allowing Hermione to lead the way. The rain had picked up slightly, and although it did cool things off a bit, Ginny was eager to get out of it.

"Look," Hermione said, nudging Ginny gently in the ribs. She pointed at a non-descript sign that read simply: Pat's. "It's as good as anywhere."

"Fine, lead the way," Ginny called over the rain that had just begun to fall in earnest.

It was both louder and more crowded than Ginny had anticipated. Men and women were crammed around the three large televisions, their eyes riveted on the same football game. They cheered and groaned in turn, shoving each other boisterously and making wagers.

"Shall we sit at the bar?" Hermione asked nervously, her mouth close to Ginny's ear. Without waiting for an answer, she turned and began to push politely through the crowd.

"Well this is different," Hermione yelled over the cheering patrons. "What would you like to drink?"

Ginny's eyes scanned the bottles behind the bar, looking for something familiar. "A little help?" she asked when nothing caught her eye.

"Well…" Hermione bit her lip and scanned the bottles as well.

"What can I get you girlies?" The barkeep asked, his baritone voice clear even over the game-crowd.

"Two pale ales, please," Hermione ordered decisively.

"Specialty of the house," The barkeep said with an approving nod. "Brew it me self."

"Thank you," Ginny and Hermione said together as he clunked two glasses in front of them. Ginny took a tentative sip and decided that it wasn't as good as Butterbeer, but was reasonably milder than Firewhiskey.

Hermione, Ginny noticed, nearly drained her glass.

"Like it?" Ginny asked cautiously. Hermione smiled at her winningly and shrugged.

"When in Rome," she said. Ginny waited for the rest, but Hermione merely gazed around the room in apparent satisfaction. Suddenly she whipped around in her seat, her face flushed.

"What?" Ginny demanded, glancing around for the reason behind her strange behavior.

"Don't look!" Hermione hissed, picking up her glass and hiding her face in it. Ginny casually gave the pub another sweeping glance before returning her eyes to Hermione.

"What is it?" she asked, having another sip of her ale.

"I think I know the boy in line for the loo," she said, her face still aflame. "But I don't think he recognizes me. He's the one wearing the Arsenal t-shirt."

Again, Ginny gave the room what she hoped was a casual once-over. Sure enough, there in line for the loo was a tall young man with wavy brown hair, sporting a red shirt emblazoned with a cannon.

"He's certainly looking at you," Ginny murmured, nudging Hermione with her shoulder. Hermione blushed a deeper red and chanced a look over her shoulder. The young man's face split into an eye-crinkling grin the moment Hermione looked at him.

"Oh Merlin," Hermione gasped, whipping back around in her seat. She picked up her glass and drained the remains, then looked at Ginny desperately. "What do I tell him if he comes over here? I'm sure it's him!"

"You're sure it's who?" Ginny demanded, finishing her ale as well. "How do you know him?"

"Primary school," Hermione said, inexpertly signaling the barkeep for another round. "He was horrid to me. He called me the bucktooth wonder."

"Well he doesn't seem to mind your teeth anymore," Ginny giggled.

Hermione, however, continued to look pale and once again drained her new glass of ale in one long drink.

"Honestly Hermione, don't worry. If he's smiling at you it's because he's noticed you're pretty, which means you have all the power now. You're not ten years old anymore. You're a mature, confident, fully qualified witch. You've helped to save the Wizarding Word, you have amazing friends," Ginny batted her eyelashes cheekily. "You're madly in love with a pretty decent bloke, and you're brilliant on top of it all. Don't worry!"

"Right," Hermione said, sitting up straighter. "Right." She pushed her long plait off of her shoulder and thanked the barkeep when he clunked another ale in front of her.

"Feel better?" Ginny asked slyly.

"Yes," Hermione smiled gratefully. "Much."

"Good," Ginny couldn't help but laugh. "Because he's headed this way."

Hermione inhaled deeply and then blew it out slowly. Ginny caught her eye and they both burst into laughter.

"Hello ladies," a deep voice said from Ginny's left.

"Oh, hello!" Hermione said with exaggerated surprise. Ginny noticed that her third ale was half gone and Hermione's eyes were beginning to look a little brighter than usual.

"Hello," Ginny said through her laughter. Mr. Loo had brought along a friend.

"I'm Jordan and this is my best mate Drew," Mr. Loo introduced confidently. Ginny had to admit, if only to herself, that the git and his friend were quite attractive.

"Yes, I know," Hermione said, smiling brightly. "We went to primary school together."

"I thought I recognized you," he said, his white teeth gleaming in the dim light. "I'm sorry I don't remember your name."

"It's Hermione actually," Hermione said, and Ginny recognized the suddenly stubborn set of her shoulders. "But you probably won't remember me by that name. You had a cute little nickname for me actually."

"Really?" he laughed along with her, not seeing the warning signs that were screaming out at Ginny. "What was it?"

"The Bucktooth Wonder," Hermione supplied sweetly, resting her chin in her hand and smiling up at him. Ginny had to admit that the difference between Hermione's smile at eleven and Hermione's smile now was profound. What had once been a cute, almost eager grin, was now a very pretty, perhaps even beautiful feature.

"G-Granger?" Mr. Loo asked incredulously. "Is that really you?"

"Mmmhmm," Hermione nodded.

"You sure turned out well," he said, eyeing her appreciatively. Next to him, his friend smiled at Ginny and raised his eyebrows in invitation. Ginny rolled her eyes and looked away. "Growing up did good things for you."

"Funny," Hermione all but purred. "I can't say the same thing about you."

Ginny nearly spit out the ale she had just sipped.

"W-what?" Mr. Loo asked, seeming unable to understand her words.

Hermione shrugged. "When we were kids I had a little crush on you," she said, her tone apologetic. "But now…well…I just don't find you attractive at all."

Mr. Loo opened and closed his mouth several times, all the while getting redder and redder in the face. Ginny wrapped her arms around her middle and shook with laughter.

"I think you're just a fucking prude," he finally spat, his hands balled into fists.

Hermione sat up straighter and shrugged once again. "I think my boyfriend would disagree with you."

She spun her stool around to face the bar once again, thoroughly dismissing Mr. Loo without another word.

"Hermione Jean Granger!" Ginny gasped, after the disgraced boy and his friend had stormed away. "I didn't know you had it in you."

Suddenly two small glasses filled with amber liquid were plunked down in front of them

"That was the best laugh I've had in weeks," the barkeep said, his blue eyes dancing. "Those are on the house."

"Thanks," Hermione and Ginny laughed together. Ginny felt suddenly buoyant and daring. Without taking time to investigate she picked up her glass, saluted Hermione and threw the contents down her throat.

"How is it? Hermione giggled as Ginny coughed and spluttered.

"Not so bad," she lied.

Hermione held her glass aloft and bowed her head to Ginny dramatically. "To you, Ginevra," she said solemnly. Ginny felt the bubble of hysterical laughter burst out of her chest before she could try and prevent it. Hermione swallowed her drink, and like Ginny, coughed and winced.

"Well done," the barkeep praised. "Want another round?"

Ginny and Hermione met each other's eyes, both giggling lightly.

"Oh go on, one more," Ginny answered. After they had been served Ginny held her drink aloft. "To vincation…I mean vindimation." Ginny pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear and blew out an impatient breath. "Vin-di-ca-tion," she said, enunciating each syllable. She swallowed her drink in one and smiled proudly at Hermione when she didn't cough.

Hermione held up her own drink and smiled importantly. "To not sleeping in a tent!" Like Ginny, she swallowed her drink in one gulp and managed not to cough.

Ginny held up another amber-filled shot glass. "To being able to snog Harry whenever I bloody well please!"

Hermione held up her glass in turn. "To-Merlin's pants it's Cormac McBaggen! I mean Cormac McLaggen!" she said, her eyes bulging. Ginny spun around in her seat just as Cormac reached them.

"What are you two doing here?" he demanded rudely. Both Ginny and Hermione seemed to find this hilarious, so much so that Ginny had to clutch Hermione so that she wouldn't fall over.

"Hi Cormac," Hermione finally managed, her laughter fading to light giggles. "Fancy seeing you here?"

"My Aunt Pearl lives in the area and I'm staying with her for the summer. I've just been out with some friends," he said, looking slightly disgruntled. "What are you two doing here?" he asked again.

"My parents live on Teaberry," Hermione said beaming. "I grew up here in Winchester. Isn't that wonderful?"

"It's bollocks, Hermione!" Ginny said fiercely. "You should have grown up in Devon so that we could have been friends before Hogwarts. "

"That's right," Hermione agreed. "I should have! Cormac, you should have lived in Devon as well," Hermione enthused. "If you knew the Weasleys a little better you'd love 'em!"

"Er, right," he said, narrowing his eyes at them. "What have you been drinking? Petrol?"

Ginny giggled and Hermione followed suit. Soon they were in hysterics once again.

"Where are Weasley and Potter?" Cormac demanded sternly.

"Hello? I'm a Weasley," Ginny said, waving at McLaggen sarcastically.

"No," Hermione shook her head. "You're a Potter…or at least you will be someday!"

"Fine," Ginny giggled, swaying slightly. "You be the Weasley and I'll be the Potter."

"Done," Hermione agreed.

"You see Cormac, we're right here," Ginny said, picking up her ale glass.

"I meant where are Harry and Ron?" Cormac snarled.

"Testy, testy!" Ginny sing-songed. "I hope he wasn't this unpleasant to you on your date, Hermione."

Hermione laughed. "No, he was _much_ more friendly, weren't you Cormac?"

"Oi!" He snapped. "Scar head and Ginger? Where are they?"

Both Hermione and Ginny stopped laughing instantly and narrowed their eyes.

"The Dancing Shamrock, you great ruddy ape," Hermione snapped.

"Who peed in your pumpkin juice?" Ginny demanded.

"Right," Cormac said. "I'll be back."

* * *

"So she says to Weasley to get in touch with her if he's ever in Leeds! Can you believe it?" Seamus laughed loudly, slapping an old wizard on the back.

Ron smiled easily, trying not to feel too pleased with himself. Then again, he couldn't help it if the witches found him irresistible. He laughed softly to himself when he considered the irony. There were witches in the world, he realized, who would sleep with him on the spot, and yet he didn't want any of them. The witch that he did want was also the witch who had made the no touching below the waist rule. She was the one who never let him spend the night in her room. She was the one who was making him wait. He didn't mind. In fact, he didn't feel like he was sacrificing anything, giving up all the easy witches for the one difficult one. Hermione, he knew, was damn well worth the wait.

"Oi, Weasely," a deep voice called suddenly from the door. When Ron glanced up he felt his body instantly tense with dislike.

"McLaggen?" He greeted stiffly as the latter approached him. McLaggen glanced around uncomfortably before meeting Ron's eye.

"Where's Potter?" He asked.

"Right here," Harry said, pushing away from a table nearby where he was playing Exploding Snap with Dean, Terry Boot, and Lee Jordan. "What's going on?"

McLaggen looked back at Ron. "I'm here from Winchester," he said and Ron felt his heart flood with panic. "You'll probably want to come with me."

"Hermione? Ginny? Are they all right?" Ron demanded as Harry reached them.

"They're fine," Cormac assured him gruffly. "It's just…"

"What?" Harry asked impatiently.

"Well, they're pissed out of their bloody minds."

"What?!" Both Ron and Harry demanded together.

"It's true," he insisted. "I've just come from the pub. I don't know what they've been drinking, but they're in no fit state to be on their own."

"Right," Harry said, pulling out his wand and turning to their friends. "Sorry, we've got to go."

Ron followed Harry, not able to quite make sense of what was going on. Surely McLaggen was mistaken. Ginny was probably pissed, but not Hermione. It was just such an un-Hermioneish thing to do.

Moments later they were standing just outside of a small pub on a rain-slick street.

"In there," McLaggen motioned. "At the bar."

Harry hesitantly pulled the door open, and the roar of the pub patrons greeted them. Ron followed Harry in, his eyes immediately picking out Hermione's chestnut hair from the crowd.

"Over there," he yelled close to Harry's ear. Harry followed Ron's finger to where Ginny and Hermione sat, holding onto one another and laughing gently.

"Ron!" Hermione cried when they were close. "Ron, you're here!" She jumped down from her stool and proceeded to instantly stumble. He caught her by her shoulders and pushed her back onto her feet. "You're here," she repeated, seeming to find nothing strange about almost falling on her face. She reached up and touched his cheek tenderly, her eyes shinning feverishly bright.

"Harry!" She choked, realizing that he was standing right beside her, holding Ginny's hand. "Oh, you're both here."

Ron concentrated very hard on not laughing as Hermione's eyes filled with tears. She wrapped one arm around his waist and the other around Harry's and squeezed them both to her tightly.

"I love you both," she said, her voice hitching. "I don't know what I'd do without you. You're both so…so…"

Ron watched as the color seemed to instantly drain from Hermione's face. She looked around in apparent panic, and it clicked in Ron's mind what was happening.

"Come on, love," he said, scooping her up in his arms. Walking fast, he marched her through the crowd and out the door, setting her on her feet just in time for her to be sick all over the sidewalk.

"Go away, Ron," she moaned, leaning heavily against the pub wall. "You don't need to see this."

"Whatever," he said, glancing around before waving his wand discreetly and vanishing her vomit.

The door opened once again, and Harry pushed through supporting Ginny who seemed incapable of walking on her own.

"…and your eyes are so lovely," she was babbling, as Harry smiled at her in unconcealed adoration.

"Ok, Hermione?" He asked, his mouth pulled up in an amused smirk. Ginny continued to babble about how wonderful he was, and Harry turned back to her, seeming content to let her carry on.

Hermione inhaled and stood straight, swaying slightly. "I feel loads better," she told Ron sadly, wiping away a tear. "I'm sorry I'm such a mess."

"You're fine," Ron assured her gently. She was more than fine actually. She was beautiful. He couldn't help but admire her, sick or not. Her cheeks were flushed, her skin nearly shinning in the dim streetlight. "You're lovely," he told her without planning to.

"Oh Ron," she said, stumbling into him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and held her against him. It still amazed him how perfectly her head tucked under his chin.

"Take me home?"' She asked vulnerably.

"Your parents won't be angry you're in this state?" He asked worriedly.

"No, not there," Hermione said, shaking her head. "Take me to Grimmuld Place. I want to be with you tonight. All night. Will you stay with me?"

"I don't know, Hermione," Ron said uncertainly.

"Please," she said, holding herself tightly against him. "Please. You'll be leaving soon and who knows how long it'll be until I see you again."

She looked up at him from under her lashes, not seeming to understand the affect she had on him. How could he say no when she looked at him that way? How could he disappoint such a lovely, vulnerable face?

"Ron?" she asked, biting her lip. "Will you stay with me tonight?"

* * *

A/N: I feel that maybe things are progressing slowly with this story, but never fear! Things begin to pick up a bit next chapter!


	8. Meetings, Medals, and Headlines

A/N: Awww, can you tell my mother-in-law has come to stay with us for the summer? She just loves to take the kids out, leaving me lots of time to write. Bless her.

Thank you so very much to all who reviewed, most especially Miss Lyra and RHrGreatness! Thanks guys! Reviews are always very appreciated!

* * *

**Meetings, Medals, and Headlines**

Ginny was brilliant. Harry looked down into her face as she continued to babble, and felt a surge of disbelief. She leaned heavily against him, not seeming to worry about or care where he was leading her. She trusted him, and based on what she kept repeating, she loved him as well.

"…so many times when I just sat in bed and thought about where you might be and wondered if you were thinking of me too," she was saying, her head resting on his shoulder.

"I thought about you all the time," he assured her. How could she doubt that? He felt it were almost embarrassingly obvious how desperately he cared for her.

"You did?" she asked, looking up at him in wonder. Her eyes slid shut and she smiled tumultuously. "I used to wonder if you'd ever feel about me like I do about you," she confessed softly.

Harry wanted to answer, but found that he didn't know what to say. There was a time, he had to admit, that Ginny's crush on him had been nothing more than a nuisance…an embarrassing minefield that he tiptoed around cautiously. At that time she had been nothing more than Ron's kid sister, and he therefore, had viewed her as a kind of sister as well. Looking at her now, he wondered why he hadn't immediately realized how beautiful she was? Why had he not felt this undeniable pull to be with her? He had wasted so much time at a point when Voldemort's shadow had loomed dark and heavy over his future. Time was definitely a luxury he hadn't possessed.

He found himself wondering if the Ministry would lend him a timeturner so he could go back and kick his twelve- year-old self in the arse.

"What's taking them?" Ginny demanded suddenly, breaking Harry from his reverie. She pushed away from him unstably, and peered down the sidewalk where Ron was similarly supporting Hermione.

"Oi!" She called. "Were you two planning on sleeping here?"

She laughed lightly and turned to Harry, her eyes dancing. "Well we can go without them, can't we?"

He felt his face grow warm. She wanted him to take her home? _Yes._

"I don't know, Gin," he said instead. "Won't your mum…?"

"Oh she'd have kittens if she knew," Ginny laughed. "But she thinks I'm staying at Hermione's, doesn't she?"

"She'd murder me," Harry muttered.

"No," Ginny breathed, wrapping her arms around his neck. "She loves you. A fair bit more than she loves me, I'd say."

"Yeah ri-"

Harry didn't get to finish as Ginny had pushed herself up on her toes and sealed her mouth over his. She tasted faintly of spirits, and the effect was slightly heady. He forgot for the moment that they were in the middle of a muggle street and that Ron stood only feet away. He forgot everything, and simply gave himself over to the pure bliss that was kissing Ginny.

"That's my little sister you're molesting, Potter!" Ron barked moments later. Harry groaned internally before wrenching himself away from Ginny's enthusiastic mouth. He needn't have worried, as Ron looked slightly amused.

"Ron you ruddy prat," Ginny growled.

"So you're ready to get to bed now, are you?" Harry asked, trying to change the subject. Hermione, he noticed, looked oddly pleased with herself, as Ron went scarlet at her side.

"What do you mean?" Ron demanded oddly. Hermione elbowed him hard in the ribs and threw him a pointed look.

"Uh," Harry stammered as the pieces began to fall together. Ugh! He would rather not know. Beside him Ginny laughed knowingly. "Never mind, let's just go."

"Right," Ron agreed. "Straight to Grimmuld Place, then? I'm not fond of taking people sidealong, but we can't trust these two to make it in this state."

"Ron," Hermione began indignantly. "I've already told you I'm perfectly capable-"

"Quiet please, love," Ron interrupted, clamping a hand over her mouth. "I'm trying to have perfect deliberation here."

"Humph," she grouched, after she had slapped his hand away.

"See you two there," Harry told them, shuddering slightly. He turned to Ginny and found her looking up at him, her eyes soft and warm. "Ready?"

"Mmmhmm," she answered, standing up straight and grasping both of his arms, her face only inches from his own.

"Right."

Harry closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the dark kitchen of Grimmuld Place, but the sensation of Ginny's hands warm on his skin, kept distracting him.

"Er, Ginny?"

"Yes?"

"I think maybe it would be better if I just held onto your arm."

"If you'd like," she said, a knowing smile beginning to pull at her mouth. She released him, and he took up her hand and held it firmly. Her hands were smaller than he remembered them, and her skin was startlingly soft. He recalled with distinct clarity how her hands had run through his hair as they snogged on top of the broom shed at The Burrow.

Damn. This wasn't going to work either.

"Uh, Ginny?"

She laughed. "Yes, Harry?"

"I don't think this is going to work," he said, forcing himself to meet her eye.

"Is something the matter?" Her face was absolutely wicked. She was enjoying herself.

"I…I can't seem to focus. If I try and force it, I'll splinch us both."

"Never mind," she said, smiling radiantly. "Ron?"

"What?"

The sound of Ron's voice made Harry jump. He hadn't realized that he and Hermione were still there.

"Take me home, would you? "

"What? Why?" Ron laughed. "Having a bit of trouble concentrating, Harry?"

"Hark who's talking," Harry snapped. "I notice you've not gone very far yourself."

Ginny and Hermione laughed.

"Fine," Ron agreed. "Come and get Hermione, Harry. Poor girl can barely stand."

"Ron you are completely ridiculous," Hermione said primly, pushing away from him. She took exactly three steps before she began to pitch ominously forward. Harry reached out and grasped her elbow firmly, without releasing Ginny until her brother had taken hold of her.

"Better?" Hermione asked, smiling at him cheekily. Harry rolled his eyes but had to admit that it was monumentally easier to concentrate on Grimmuld Place while holding onto Hermione than it had been holding onto Ginny.

"You know," Hermione began as he turned them on the spot.

As they traveled through the compressing darkness, Harry was sure that whatever Hermione had to say was going to embarrass him.

"You and Ginny are just so _right _for each other," she finished as though there had been no interruption. She casually threw her small leather purse onto a nearby chair and stretched. "I'm so glad you finally smartened up, Harry."

Harry laughed, his face warm. "You didn't approve of Cho, then? You didn't seem to mind her so much at the time."

"Oh Cho was fine, I suppose," Hermione waved a dismissive hand. "But there was never a future there. She wasn't the kind of girl for you."

"Oh no?" Harry asked, wondering, not for the first time that night, what Hermione and Ginny had consumed. Whatever it had been, he wanted the conversation over with before Ginny arrived.

"No," Hermione stated firmly. "She was a bit too much work. Too needy. You've always needed someone exactly like Ginny. Someone who could hold their own."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. Only he knew he didn't need someone like Ginny. He needed Ginny herself.

Hermione opened her mouth as if to continue, but a sudden 'pop' distracted her. Ron had appeared, Ginny's face just noticeable over his shoulder. They were both laughing, and after a confused moment, Harry realized that Ginny had ridden on her brother's back. Her hair was falling in her face, and her eyes were alight and playful, if still a bit unfocused.

"All right, off of me, you!" Ron said, unceremoniously shoving Ginny off his back. Ginny tumbled to the stone floor, landing soundly on her bum.

"Ron you absolute wanker!" Harry snarled, stooping to help her up from where she sat on the floor laughing.

"What?" Ron asked innocently. "Got her back safely didn't I? Where's Kreahcer, Harry? I'm starved."

"Ron!" Hermione's voice rang out angrily.

"I only meant to ask if he was awake," Ron explained hastily. "I can find my own snack." Without waiting for Hermione's reply he turned and began to dig through the nearest cupboard.

"Well I'm going to bed," Hermione said with a significant look at Ron. Harry closed his eyes and vowed to lock away whatever liquor happened to be in the house. Hermione, under the influence of drink, had no tact. Add Ron to the equation and the result was absolutely revolting.

"R-right," Ron said far too casually. "I suppose I'm tired too. Yeah…I think I'll go to bed."

"Night Harry, Ginny," Hermione said, pink in the face and not taking her eyes from Ron's. Ron, for his part, only managed a hazy wave in their general direction before disappearing after Hermione.

"About as subtle as a bludger, those two," Ginny muttered. She pulled one of the old chairs back from the large table and dropped into it heavily. Her eyes, Harry noticed, had acquired a heavy sort of quality in the last several minutes.

"You look knackered," he observed.

She snorted. "Thanks."

"I didn't mean it like that," he rushed to explain.

"I know, Harry, honestly," she assured him with a smile. Ginny pushed the chair across from her out with her foot and arched an eyebrow. Harry wasn't sure exactly why he found that so attractive, but sat nevertheless. For a moment they sat in comfortable silence.

"You know I've been meaning to ask you something, but with everything going on…"

"Oh?" Harry asked curiously. Ginny was fidgeting with a thread that had pulled loose from her shirt.

"Yeah," she looked at him and smiled shyly. "If you don't want to go I'll understand, I know you're like Ron, a Cannons fan and all that."

"Go where?" Harry prompted, watching her fingers continue to worry the thread.

"I managed to get tickets to the Harpies game. It'll be the first since the war began. I wondered if you'd want to go?"

Harry felt that his face might split from his smile. Ginny and Quidditch, what could be better?

"I don't know," he teased. "I'm a Cannons man myself."

"Fine," Ginny stuck her nose in the air and turned away from him slightly. "I can find someone else to go instead."

Harry was sure she was right, so he stood, braced himself against the table with both arms, and leaned across it.

"Ginny," he said softly. When she turned they were practically nose-to-nose, and Harry had the pleasure of watching her flush brilliant red. "There's no other way I'd rather spend a day."

And they were kissing. Ginny's mouth moving in perfect synchronization with his own. Harry experienced, once again, the curious sensation of the world falling away. There was nothing but Ginny, warm and radiant in his arms. Her hands pushed into his hair, and Harry had the vague impression that she had joined him in leaning across the table. He reached out blindly and gripped her waist, pulling her forward. She came willingly, and he soon found himself wrapped not only in her arms, but her legs as well. He pulled his mouth from hers and began to trail kisses down her jaw to the hollow just under her ear. He gasped against her skin as she pushed her hands under his shirt and gripped his back tightly, causing his skin to erupt in goose flesh.

"Master Harry?"

Kreacher's raspy voice brought Harry crashing back down to Earth. He and Ginny broke apart, both breathless and wide-eyed. Harry found himself standing between Ginny's legs where she sat on the edge of the table. He could not recall when or how she had crossed over from where she had been sitting.

"Master Harry," Kreacher repeated weakly from the door. "I must apologize. I did not realize you were home. I would have…would have…"

As Harry watched the old elf's eyes rolled back into his head, and the next moment he collapsed to the floor.

"KREACHER!" He and Ginny yelled together.

* * *

"Holy piss," Ron swore lightly upon entering Hermione's room. "When did you move all of these books over?"

"Ron," Hermione said sternly, apparently not appreciating his vocabulary.

"Right, sorry," he muttered, remembering that she had invited him to her room. To stay. For the entire night. He felt suddenly awkward, and cast his eyes about the room for something to say.

"It's a little warm, isn't it?" Hermione asked, breaking the silence.

"A little," Ron agreed, chancing a look over at her. She was standing beside a large wardrobe looking just as unsure as he felt.

"Maybe you should…you know…put your pajamas on," she said, flushing vibrant red. "They might be a bit cooler."

"They're in my room," Ron said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, and immediately feeling like an idiot. _She knows where your room is you arse_, he mentally kicked himself.

"Right," Hermione nodded. "Why don't you go get changed…and then come back."

"O-okay," he agreed, backing out of the room slowly.

Not until he was out in the hall and Hermione's door had been shut did he feel he could breath again. What in the bloody hell was he going to do? He had thought that his relationship with Lavender had made him a bit more sophisticated, a bit more educated in the ways of the world. He had thought that he would be able to hold his own with Hermione, perhaps take the lead now and then. Now, however, standing outside her door, he had never felt more like he was in over his head. He knew what she expected of him…at least he thought he did. He also knew that there was no way that it could happen, not tonight, and definitely not while she was drunk.

Now all he had to do was deal with the simple task of rejecting Hermione. Fan-bloody-tastic.

Ron got to his room and pulled on the first pajamas his hands touched. He hoped that he might be able to break the news to her while she was still reasonably pissed. With any luck he would escape the encounter without being mauled by an angry flock of birds…or worse, bringing Hermione to tears.

He tiptoed back down the darkened hall and eased quietly into the room. Hermione had turned the lights down, and her room was now bathed in a cozy, yellow glow.

He swallowed. Hermione lay sprawled across the bed on her side. She had released her hair from its plait, and it spilled across her pillow in a mess of wild curls. She had changed, he realized with a pleasant swoop in his stomach, into one of his own Chudley Cannons t-shirts and a pair of black cotton shorts. They were much shorter than any shorts he had ever seen her wear, and he couldn't stop his eyes from lingering on the bits of smooth thigh that he had never before seen.

"Hermione?" he whispered thickly. She did not answer. "Hermione."

He moved cautiously forward until he stood over her, and blew out a breath of mingled regret and relief. Hermione was fast asleep, her hands folded under her head much like a small child. He sank into the armchair next to her bed and felt a peacefulness steal over him as he watched her sleeping.

Hermione's chest rose and fell rhythmically, and Ron watched it, completely riveted. Her even breathing was proof: Proof that she had made it through the war. Proof that she was just as brilliant and brave as he had always known she was. Proof that the whole war had yielded something good…that all the sacrifice had really meant something above and beyond basic survival. Never again would Hermione be hunted as a Mudblood. Never again would she be viewed as a lesser being. She was going to go forward and make a difference. She would make the world, both magical and muggle, a better place. Plus she was beautiful, and for reasons only she knew, she loved him. He laughed softly at the sheer absurdity of it.

As he continued to watch her chest rise and fall, other things pushed themselves to the forefront of his attention. Like the way his large shirt draped over her thin frame, hinting at the curves hidden underneath. Or how she had a tiny birthmark on the outside of her upper right thigh.

"Ron," she moaned suddenly in her sleep. "Ron, no, come back!"

The blood seemed to freeze in his veins as her breathing picked up and her mouth turned down in a frown.

"Come back, please! Ron! Don't leave me!"

Tears were beginning to leak from the corners of her eyes and her legs were becoming twisted in her blankets. Ron knew that he should wake her, but his body felt paralyzed.

"Ron! Ron, please! PLEASE," she screamed in her sleep. "COME BACK! DON'T LEAVE US! DON'T LEAVE ME!"

"Hermione!" He was finally able to rasp. He clutched her shoulder in both hands and shook her firmly. She sat up straight in bed, and her eyes flew open, distressed and glistening with tears.

"Ron!" She looked at him for a moment before burying her face in her hands, her body shaking with silent tears. Ron fell to his knees at her bedside and crushed her against his chest.

"I'm sorry," he moaned. "Hermione, I'm so sorry. I'll never forgive myself. Never."

He held Hermione for several more minutes, stroking her hair and rocking her gently. Eventually she calmed and pushed away from him gently.

"Sorry," she sniffled, her eyes swollen and red. "It just seemed so real."

"Don't say sorry." Ron closed his eyes as her apology cut through him like a blade. "Please, don't apologize to me."

"Ron," Hermione said softly. "Open your eyes."

He did as she asked and found her gazing at him with gentle understanding. He found it difficult to meet her eyes and tried to look away. She grasped his face firmly between her hands, forcing him to look at her.

"Ron I know you're sorry for leaving, I know it!" She added desperately when he tried to turn away again. "I know you would take it back if you could. I forgive you, I really do."

He looked into her eyes and saw the transparent honesty there. She was telling the truth.

"But you have nightmares?" he asked, cringing at how strained his voice sounded. "How often?"

Hermione sniffled again and took his hand. "Not often. That might have been the third time, I'm not really sure."

"You never told me," he said, wondering if it would have been better if she had.

"Would it have made a difference?" she asked miserably.

"What can I do?" He was desperate. Even if she had forgiven him, she was still suffering as a result of his actions. It was so wrong. He wanted to be the one who kept her safe, and instead he was the one causing harm.

She looked at him almost shyly. "Just hold me, please?"

He pulled himself onto the bed and wrapped her tightly in his arms. She buried her face in the front of his pajamas as he stroked her hair.

"Sorry about earlier," she said after several minutes, her voice muffled against his chest.

"What do you mean?"

"I fell asleep after I asked you to stay."

"Never mind that," he said, kissing her hair. "You weren't in any fit state to make that decision anyway."

It was silent for a moment and then Hermione looked up at him in open confusion. "What do you mean?"

Ron felt his face burn. "Well…you asked me to stay the night but…it probably wasn't the best idea with all that you had to drink and…we just talked about no touching below the waist and…" He trailed off feeling more foolish by the second.

"You…you think that I wanted to…to…" Hermione's face was also suddenly red, but she seemed to be fighting laughter. "Ron, did you think I was inviting you over for a shag?"

Well hadn't she? "Not a shag," he responded, trying to keep his voice even. "But to…you know…we…we love each other and…it would be more than a shag…it would be special…"

Wonderful. Could he sound any more like a wanker?

Hermione pressed her lips firmly together and took two deep breaths before speaking.

"I see," she said stiffly.

"Well you said you wanted me to stay with you all night," he explained, completely bemused.

"Yes," Hermione smiled patiently. "I wanted you to sleep with me. _Sleep_, Ron. You know, in the same bed."

"Oh."

Together they burst into laughter. Hermione threw herself backward against her pillows and Ron doubled over, clutching at his stomach. After several moments their chuckling slowed to weak snickers and then silence.

Ron leaned over Hermione and cupped her face in his hand.

"I love you," he said seriously. "I'll never leave you again. Not if I can help it."

"I know," she sighed. "Really, I do."

"Well then, did you say something about wanting me to stay the night? You know, only to sleep?"

"Only to sleep?" Hermione laughed, raising an eyebrow.

"_Obviously_," Ron shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"Well I guess I'll settle for that," she said, burrowing under her blankets.

"How noble of you," Ron laughed, feeling anything but casual as he scooted into bed next to her. "You don't snore, do you?"

"Ron!" she said, her tone threatening. "You'd know if I did by now."

"Right." He felt suddenly hot all over as she pushed her back into his chest.

"Will you get the light?"

He clicked off the bedside lamp, and after the room was dark he rolled back to Hermione. Lying with her in the dark felt incredibly intimate and liberating. Hermione grabbed his arm and pulled it over across her waist, burrowing back against his chest.

"Good night, Hermione."

"Good night, Ron," she said softly.

Sleeping next to Hermione, Ron knew it would be.

* * *

"I can't believe you didn't wake me!"

Hermione paced in front of the kitchen fireplace in a state of high agitation. Harry met Ron's eyes over Ginny's head, and the latter shrugged and raised his eyebrows as if to say, _what did you expect?_

"There wasn't much you could have done," Ginny said, looking pale. "We managed to get a mediwizard here straight away…but it was too late."

"What do you mean 'too late'?" Hermione demanded. "Surely there was something that could have been done?"

Harry shoved away his cornflakes. "No, there wasn't."

Hermione peered at him as though she had never seen anything quite like him before, and Harry thought he might understand how she felt. They had all lost loved ones in the war, but never without a fight. This time however, there was no enemy to pit themselves against. Kreacher had been quite old and his death had been natural. Still, it was far more difficult than Harry could have imagined to simply surrender Kreacher to the inevitable. It seemed to go against his very nature, leaving him feeling as though he had to do _something_, but he had not yet figured out what.

Hermione sank into the chair next to Ron as her eyes filled with tears. "Did he suffer?"

"It was very quick," Harry answered truthfully. One moment Kreacher had been apologizing needlessly, and the next he was gone.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment as Fred's death played agonizingly through his mind. There one moment, gone the next. It had been the same for Dumbledore…Remus and Tonks…Sirius…Dobby…Mad Eye…Cedric…his parents.

Harry let his head fall into his hands where he grabbed up two handfuls of his untidy hair, wishing to somehow control the thoughts that were assaulting his mind. From his right he felt a warm hand fall softly on his knee, and instantly relaxed a little. He peered sideways and Ginny met his gaze with blazing eyes. He suddenly felt stronger.

"It's weird," Ron said quietly. "I used to hate the little bugger, but now I reckon I'll miss him." He brightened a little and tickled Hermione's side. "Not that I'll be naming my first born after him, mind you."

Hermione turned scarlet and after a moment Ron seemed to realize what he had said and followed suit. In spite of his dark thoughts, Harry had to smile. He was truly happy for his friends, even if their relationship was occasionally nauseating.

"Harry?" A slow, reassuring voice called suddenly from the fireplace. Harry's eyes snapped up to see the head of Kingsley Shacklebolt staring up at him from the fire.

"King-I mean Minister! Is everything all right?" Hermione asked, having jumped to her feet.

"That's what I came to ask, and good morning," Kingsley said. "Good morning everyone." He turned to Harry with worried eyes. "I've read in The Prophet that Kreacher died early this morning?"

"That made the news, did it?" Harry asked, somewhat surprised. "Yes it's true."

"Well I'm sorry Harry," Kingsley said with sincere regret. "How are you all doing?"

"Fine," Harry answered. "It was a bit of a nasty shock, but he lived a long life, and most of it was happy.

"Quite true," Kingsley agreed. "Listen Harry, Hermione, Ron, I know it's rotten timing, but I need to see the three of you in my office straight away."

"Everything all right?" Ron asked warily, putting a protective hand on Hermione's shoulder.

"About as fine as to be expected," Kingsley answered, and for the first time Harry noticed his haggard appearance. His usually bright, dark eyes were heavy and bloodshot, his clothes were rumpled, and he was unshaven.

Harry pushed back from the table. "What time do you need us there?"

"As soon as you can get here. Before nine if you can."

"I'll just go change," Hermione said, hurrying from the room.

"Thank you," Kingsley smiled wearily. "See you in a bit."

After Kingsley's head had disappeared with a 'pop' and Ron had followed Hermione upstairs to dress, Harry turned to Ginny who was clutching a cup of strong tea between her hands.

"How are you feeling?"

She shrugged and smiled weakly. "Like I got pissed with Hermione last night. I'll be fine." She reached out and pushed his glasses gently up his nose with her forefinger, just as he often did himself. Harry felt an electric jolt shoot through him at the gesture. "How are you feeling?"

He caught up her hand and squeezed it gently. "Dunno. Shocked still, I think. He never mentioned feeling poorly."

"Maybe he hadn't been," Ginny suggested gently.

"Yeah." Harry glanced around the kitchen as a new thought occurred to him. "What am I going to do with this ruddy house?"

"I thought you wanted to keep it?"

"No," Harry shook his head firmly. "This place was like a prison to Sirius. The only reason I was holding onto it was because Kreacher was so attached. I couldn't very well have sold it while he was still alive, so I was just trying to make it a bit more livable."

"So you want to sell it then?" Ginny asked, looking slightly confused.

"Dunno," Harry sighed. He wasn't sure what witch or wizard would want to buy a house with such a dark history. "I'll think of something."

"I'll think about it too," Ginny promised, standing up. "There's got to be something respectable you could do with it." She put a shaky hand to her stomach and grimaced. "I'm never drinking again. Ever."

"Going home?" Harry asked, feeling instantly glum at the prospect.

"I'd better before Mum gets suspicious," she explained easily. "Come by later? You know, when you're done meeting with the Minister of Magic and all."

Harry blushed. "It's only Kingsley."

"Yeah," Ginny kissed him swiftly on the lips. "Come by later?"

"Of course," Harry said, watching as she took a pinch of floo powder from the jar on the wide mantle.

"I'll see you later than." She smiled, and as she turned to the fire an ache of loss washed over Harry. Acting fast he grasped her arm, spun her around, and pulled her back into his arms. Wondering momentarily if he had gone mad, he held her silently. For her part, Ginny didn't question his motives but seemed content to simply be held. Harry was extremely grateful, because Ginny seemed to act as a talisman against all dark thoughts and memories.

"Want me to stay?" she asked quietly.

_Yes. Please, yes_. "No, " he said instead. "You should go cover things with your mum. I don't want you in trouble."

"You're sure?"

_No._ "Yeah, I'll see you later." He did his best to smile, but Ginny didn't seem fooled.

"After I've talked to mum, and washed, I'll come to find you if you haven't come by yet. All right?"

"Ginny, you don't-"

"Shut up Harry," she laughed. "I'll see you soon."

He nodded. "Yeah, ok."

Several minutes after Ginny had disappeared in a burst of emerald flames, Ron and Hermione appeared back in the kitchen. Seeing Hermione's slightly green face reminded Harry of her behavior from the night before. He hadn't had the heart to tease her earlier while they were discussing Kreacher's sudden death, but he suddenly found that he needed a laugh.

"So," he began casually, as Hermione took a tentative sip of tea. "Developed a taste for Muggle whiskey have you?"

For a moment Hermione looked as though she were going to gag. "I don't know what you mean," she said primly, having pulled herself together.

"Perhaps it was the ale then?" Ron supplied, grinning at Harry over Hermione's head. "I reckon I'm going to have to learn some sobering charms before you and Ginny go out again."

Hermione stood, her nose in the air. "We should go," she said, giving no indication of having heard them. "We don't want to keep the minister waiting."

"Maybe he wouldn't mind if we brought him a gift. Whiskey seems appropriate," Ron said, turning red from the strain of holding in his laughter. "What do you think, Hermione? What kind should we bring him? You're the expert after all."

Hermione looked at them as though they had just suggested enslaving the centaurs. "I'll see you both there," she said, before turning on the spot and disappearing with a sharp crack.

When they arrived at the Ministry, moments after Hermione, it was to find it a hub of activity. Most of those passing, Harry noted, looked much like Kingsley: weary, harassed, and strained.

"It is Saturday, right?" Ron confirmed, looking about in a daze. "It looks like it could be Monday."

"When was the last time you saw your dad at home, Ron?" Hermione asked loftily, not yet over their teasing. "Everyone has been working over time. The Ministry is in shambles. It's going to take years to set it to rights."

Shame squirmed uncomfortably in Harry's stomach as he looked around. He had been so caught up in his own strange mix of post-war relief, exhaustion, grief, and guilt that he hadn't given much thought into what it would take to rebuild the Ministry into something strong and honorable.

Apparently, it was going to take a lot.

"Come on," Ron said, interrupting Harry's thoughts. "Kingsley's probably waiting."

Ron was right. They found Kingsley five minutes later, sitting behind a desk that might have been handsome, were it not completely buried under stacks or parchment, broken quills, several days, if not weeks, worth of post, and various other odds and ends.

"I know that, Arthur," he was saying as they entered. "But we'll have to find another way to secure Azkaban before we dismiss the dementors from our service. I don't like keeping them on any more than you do."

After sweeping the office in confusion, Harry spotted a thin puff of Weasley-red hair from behind a tower of boxes to the right of Kingsley's desk.

"Perhaps some of the Hogwarts elves can be employed for the time being," Mr. Weasley suggested wearily. " Or the Goblins if they'd agree to it. They've had an significant influx since the end of the war. Minerva is worried that she won't be able to shelter all of the elves."

"There's an idea," Kingsely said, perking slightly. He looked up and smiled at them in welcome, gesturing them to enter his office fully. "We'll have to discuss it later, Arthur, if you don't mind. I require a word with your son and his friends."

"Ron, Harry, Hermione," Mr. Weasley greeted as he stood. Harry noted with a jolt of nasty shock how absolutely haggard Mr. Weasley appeared. "I do hope you'll be by later," he smiled around at all of them, and then focused on Ron. "I think your mum rather misses having a full house."

Ron shifted uncomfortably. "We'll be by when we're done with King-I mean the Minister."

"I'll see you then."

As Mr. Weasley shuffled from the room Kingsley waved his wand and four comfortable looking chairs appeared, forming a semi-circle in front of the empty fireplace. As he fell into one of the chairs he motioned for them to do the same.

"Let's get straight to it, shall we," he said in his slow, reassuring voice. "I've spoken to Liam McCarthy."

Hermione sucked in a sharp breath and Harry saw Ron take her hand from the corner of his eye. Harry tensed as well, feeling as though the night before had been a dream that he was being slapped awake from.

"I'm sorry Hermione, but we've got nothing against the Malfoys."

Hermione slumped in her chair looking somehow smaller, which made a strong contrast to Ron who seemed to be swelling with his indignation.

"So that's it?" He demanded. "The Malfoys worm their way out of trouble again?"

Kingsley leaned back heavily in his seat and rubbed his eyes. "We were able to recover Lucius Malfoy's wand and with a little bit of tinkering the Aurors were able to produce a weakened version of Priori Incatatem, but it's not nearly as reliable because the wand had been snapped. It is clear that Lucius' wand had been used to commit Unforgiveables, but it's also common knowledge that Voldemort was using the wands of several of his followers, even by your own testimony, Harry."

Harry suppressed a groan. It was typical, of course, that they Malfoys would find a way to escape trouble. He recalled how Sirius said it had been the same way before. Lucius had clung to the coattails of Voldemort until the latter could take him no further. Sirius had been sure then, as Harry was sure now, the Lucius Malfoy had been responsible for Muggle torture and murder, as well as financial support of Voldemort's movement.

"What about Draco's wand?" the name fell uncertainly from Harry's tongue. "And his mum's?"

"It's the same for them as well," Kingsley sighed. He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. "In Draco's case we know that he was forced to use Unforgiveable under the direct threat of death from Voldemort. We also know that Bellatrix Lestrange borrowed her sister's wand on more than one occasion."

"They're a whole lot of -"

Ron's string of colorful expletives matched the thoughts filling Harry's head. Hermione tossed her bushy hair out of her eyes and sat up straight, and Harry noticed new fight burning in her eyes.

"What about their companies? Their trust?"

"The Malfoys own companies?" Ron asked, having ended his tirade.

"Of course," Hermione responded, looking relieved to be in her element of answering questions. "They operate in the Muggle World, in cosmetics and personal care. They own a line of soaps and shampoos that are known for being…thrifty, which means they're also quite popular. "

Kingsley nodded. "Ten points to Gryffindor." Hermione beamed momentarily.

"So what does that have to do with anything?" Harry looked from Kingsley to Hermione.

"We have found indisputable evidence that the Malfoy's were using their corporations to fund Voldemort's movement. We're already in the process of putting together a civil case, in which I'm confident they'll be convicted. At the minimum, the Wizengamot will order their companies dismantled, they'll be heavily fined, and put on probation for several years. Their accounts at Gringotts and abroad will also be closely scrutinized. That's all."

"It's not enough." Ron's voice was pure iron.

"No it's not," Kingsley agreed, looking Ron in the eye before turning to Hermione. "There is one person who can support your story, Hermione, but I think you know why we hesitate to call on him?"

"Greyback," Hermione whispered, her face suddenly pale. Kinglsley nodded once, looking grim.

"You know the charges he faces. Murder, some of his victims only children, torture, and, well…"

Hermione nodded frantically and closed her eyes. "Yes, yes I know," she assured him.

"We could offer him a deal," Kingsley went on. "But it would probably mean that he would be getting out of Azkaban eventually, and I don't think he's deserving of that. In this case we had to look at who was the bigger threat, and to be honest, I would like your opinion on the matter."

In his mind's eye Greyback and Lucius Malfoy appeared side by side. Greyback's appearance screamed danger, with his bloodstained whiskers and pointed, yellow teeth.

Lucius Malfoy existed as two people in Harry's mind. The first was the dapper, arrogant and cruel wizard that Harry had known since he was eleven. That Lucius was capable of anything, including Muggle torture and murder. The other Lucius was the one he had seen after the Battle of Hogwarts: Terrified, contrite, and defeated. Had he changed? Had his many close calls with Voldemort impressed upon him the severity of what he was being called to do? Had nearly losing his son scared him in a way that fear of punishment had not? Harry wasn't sure, but he did know somehow, that Lucius Malfoy, the whole Malfoy family really, would never be a threat again. Greyback on the other hand…

It was Hermione who spoke first. "Lucius Malfoy is a cruel power-monger, but he's not stupid. He won't risk his freedom again, or his son's life. He deserves Azkaban for what he's done to Muggles and Muggle-Borns, but he's not a threat anymore. He's over." She took a deep breath and plunged on. "Greyback is brutal and unrepentant. He doesn't seem to be able to help himself, and as long as he's free, everyone will be in danger, magical and muggle alike." She was suddenly fierce. "We can't let that happen."

Kingsley nodded and turned to Harry. "What do you think?"

"I agree with Hermione."

"Ron?" Kingsley asked.

Ron opened and closed his mouth several times, before taking Hermione's hand and gripping it tightly. He simply shrugged.

"Very well," Kingsley sighed. He turned to Hermione, and Harry was hit by another dose of guilt when he saw, once again, how utterly exhausted Kingsley appeared. "Hermione, I'm so sorry, but we're going to have to officially drop the charges against the Malfoys regarding what happened to you at their manor."

Hermione nodded, breathing hard and fast.

"We know you were telling the truth, Hermione," he assured her with firm conviction. "I know, you know, everyone with any sense knows. I don't want you to feel as though you were cheated out of justice, but that's as much as I can give you."

Hermione gazed into her lap for a moment, and when she looked up a steely coldness had seeped into her eyes. Harry wasn't sure what it meant, but he knew he didn't like it. It made Hermione seemed so…hardened, a stark contrast to the girl he knew so well.

"Bellatrix Lestrange is the one who tortured me," she said quietly. "Molly Weasley gave me my justice."

They were silent for several moments before Kingsley flicked his wand.

"Accio O.O.M files."

A thin purple folder zoomed at him from beneath an enormous stack of parchment, and Kingsley caught it reflexively. "There is another matter I wanted to discuss with you before you received official word." He gazed around at them looking somewhat apprehensive. "You, the three of you that is, are being awarded Order of Merlins, First Class."

Harry felt his eyes go wide in shock, and he searched Kingsley's face for any indication that he was joking. He had to be joking. Surely, surely the Ministry was not trying to honor them when there were others who…

"Bollocks!" Ron choked, his face alarmingly red. "Is this some bloody fuckin' joke?"

"Ron," Hermione groaned quietly. "Kingsley's the Minister now."

"It's all right, Hermione," Kingsley said patiently. "I imagine that this is a little shocking, but the vote was unanimous."

"I can't…I won't…" Ron was beyond coherent speech. He looked absolutely horrified at the idea.

"People died," Harry forced the words out, feeling that the irony might choke him. "Good people. Our friends and family…and you want to give us a medal?"

"And why not?" Kingsley demanded his voice laced with the first traces of anger. "Don't you think it means something to those who survived that Voldemort is gone for good? "

"We didn't do that by ourselves!" Harry jumped to his feet, the blood pounding in his ears.

"No, you didn't," Kingsley said, looking up steadily at him. "Lots of brave witches and wizards helped you, and I was honored to fight alongside them. So please don't act as though I don't understand. I know just as well as you do what it is to walk away from a battle having watched friends fall all around you. "

They fell once again into a strained silence, and Harry began pacing, not able to sit. At length Kingsley sighed loudly and tossed the file back onto his desk.

"Listen," he said much more gently. "I'm sorry. If you don't feel comfortable accepting the medals well, that's your decision, but refusing them won't bring Fred back, or Remus, or Tonks, or Moody, or any of them. No one is claiming that the three of you alone brought down Voldemort, but, all modestly aside, if it weren't for the three of you we would all probably be dead, and those who somehow survived with their lives would be living in a far different world. Muggleborns, Half Bloods, and all form of magical creatures would be imprisoned or dead. Why don't you think about that?"

Harry gazed over at Hermione and Ron as the color began to fade from the latter's cheeks. They gazed back at him, and then over at each other. There was no need to verbalize the understanding that they reached.

"All right," Hermione said quietly. "We'll accept, but," she glanced over and Ron first and then Harry. "We don't want a big fuss or ceremony or anything."

"Understandable," Kingsley agreed. "We will have to make a formal announcement, but I'm sure you understand why I hesitate to utilize The Prophet?"

"The Quibbler, then," Ron suggested, looking almost normal. "Old Lovegood could probably use the increased circulation, with his house being in ruins and all."

"Good idea, Ron." Kingsley rubbed his eyes. "We'll try to get it into the next edition. We'll also be announcing Snape's Order of Merlin."

"Snape's being awarded an Order of Merlin too?" Hermione asked quietly.

"Yes," Kingsley nodded. "Another unanimous vote. I had hoped to have things settled before his memorial service, but there were more pressing matters at the time…"

"Yeah, like escaped Death Eaters?" Harry watched the corners of Kingsley's mouth turn up in a small smile.

"Yes among other things, but since you brought up the subject of loathsome people, we are building a case against Dolores Umbridge, and your testimony will be important. I wanted to tell you ahead of time that Liam McCarthy will be in touch.

"Also," he took a deep breath. "As you know there are still several Death Eaters on the loose. Please, please use caution. I ask you this not as the Minister of Magic, but as a friend. We think they're only trying to keep out of Azkaban, but they could have darker intentions. They wagered everything on Voldemort, and now he's gone and the three of you are greatly responsible. Be vigilant."

They nodded solemnly as Kingsley stretched his long legs out in front of him. "That's all for now, unless you had any questions?"

They didn't, and after bidding Kingsley farewell, they moved quickly to the Atrium which was a busy as ever. Harry wasn't sure if he was becoming paranoid, but he could swear that people were staring more than usual. Hermione, he noted, seemed to have noticed the same thing.

"What's going on?" she muttered, as they pressed into a telephone booth. "I could swear that I saw a couple of witches laughing at me!"

"What?" Ron demanded. "Are you sure you're not being paranoid?"

Harry pushed open the door and allowed Hermione and Ron to pass through. "No, I noticed it too."

Hermione looked relieved. "You did? I knew it! Have I got something on my face? What's so funny?"

"Search me," Ron said, squinting against the light rain that was falling. "Can't be anything worse than usual though, right?"

Harry wasn't so sure. "Let's just get to The Burrow," he suggested.

Seconds later they appeared simultaneously in the unkept garden of The Burrow. It had been eerily quiet since the Final Battle, and Harry found it disconcerting…unnatural.

"Well come on," Ron said, marching up to the door. When they entered the kitchen, they found Ginny at the table, looking nervous and immensely guilty.

"Well."

They spun around as one to find Mrs. Weasley standing in the doorway, her arms folded tightly across her chest.

"Hi Mum," Ron said, stepping forward as if to embrace her. Mrs. Weasley, however, had eyes for no one but Hermione.

"Well," she repeated again. Harry watched as Hermione's eyes suddenly went wild and traveled from Ginny to Mrs. Weasley and back, in sudden understanding.

"M…Mrs. Weasely," she stammered.

"I would have thought that a witch of your intelligence would have realized," Mrs. Weasley began firmly, uncrossing her arms and revealing the rolled-up magazine she was holding. "Sit down, all of you."

Hermione fled to the table and sat next to Ginny where she continued to look pale and horrified. Harry followed behind Ron feeling completely bemused.

"Have a look at that," Mrs. Weasley commanded, throwing the magazine down on the table. Hermione's hands flew out and snatched up the periodical, her eyes growing larger as they scanned the front cover.

Her eyes slid closed in horror. "Oh no."

Mrs. Weasley nodded. "That's right. How you girls didn't suspect you were being watched is beyond me! You," she said, turning on Ginny, "Harry Potter's girlfriend, and you," she said, turning her glare on Hermione. "The only female in 'The Golden Trio'!"

Harry pulled the magazine from Hermione's limp hands. It was a magical magazine he had never seen before called, _**Lifestyles of the Young and Beautiful**_. The cover featured Ginny and Hermione taken inside the Muggle pub. In the photo they kept throwing back their heads and laughing hysterically. The fact that they were quite drunk was obvious, even without the obnoxiously flashing headline. _Hermione and Ginny: The Hogwart's Babes Take the Town._

"What in the bloody hell are you two wearing?" Ron demanded suddenly. He was peering at the cover over Harry's right shoulder, and his eyes were locked on the picture Hermione who was now holding a small glass aloft in toast.

"I…I wasn't wearing that!" Hermione was horrified.

Mrs. Weasley's face softened slightly. "Of course you weren't. They've doctored the picture to spice it up a bit. That's one of the reasons I wanted you lot to be so careful. The press will do anything to sell magazines or papers or whatever. If the story isn't good enough they'll embellish. " She gave the magazine a dirty look. "They've made you out to be a couple of tarts."

Harry peered at the picture more closely and felt anger begin to bubble in his stomach. Ginny was wearing a very low cut, gold-sequined tank-top and an extremely short black skirt, when in reality he remembered clearly that she had worn a white, cotton t-shirt and simple jeans. He couldn't remember what Hermione had worn the night before, but he knew his sensible friend would never in a million years go flouncing about in public in a crop-top.

"I'm so sorry," Hermione said miserably. "It was my idea to go to the pub, Mrs. Weasley."

"Now, now dear," Mrs. Weasley sighed, patting Hermione's hand. "I remember what it was like to be young and out on the town, but it's different for you girls. Perhaps it's not fair, but it doesn't change things. You're of age, so you're allowed to have a drink if you'd like, only you will _always_ have an audience. If you want to avoid pictures like this in the future, it's best that you remember that."

Hermione and Ginny nodded, both shame-faced. "Never mind that now, darlings," she continued, managing a smile for them. "How about a spot of lunch?"

Before either Ginny or Hermione could answer, however, Pig came twittering through the open kitchen window, bearing a small letter. He hopped on the counter in front of Mrs. Weasley excitedly, until she was able to extract the letter from him. As she read, her face became more and more strained. Finally, she let out a long breath and sank heavily into a chair. Harry got the impression that she was desperately trying to master her tears.

"What is it, mum?" Ron asked urgently.

When she looked up her eyes were red. "It's George," she said, her voice wavering slightly. "Aberforth has sent word. Apparently your brother's been getting drunk every night and passing out on random streets in Hogsmede." She swallowed and clutched the letter tightly. "Ron? I don't suppose you and Harry could go and have a word with him. Try and convince him to return to Diagon Alley at the very least. We would be able to keep a better eye on him there."

"Sure, Mum." Ron nodded and stood to leave, and Harry followed suit.

"Thank you, boys," Mrs. Weasley managed, before pulling them both into a tight embrace.

"Of course."

"Not at all."

After Mrs. Weasley released him, Harry closed his eyes and concentrated on Hogsmede's High Street. Turning on the spot he wondered fleetingly about exactly what kind of state they would find George in.


	9. Unexpected Visitors

A/N: Thank you so very much to all who reviewed! You guys keep me going! **DancingHippogriff**: I wasn't paying very good attention, and that is how both boys ended up with the same name. Good catch (:. **NerdGurl89**: I hope this chapter answers your question about what I had planned for Harry. **GingerNinja1, FalseImagination, and Lizzi1990**: Lol, I'm glad that you all could confirm what I've always read about Bracknell. I chose Bracknell as the sire for Auror Training simply because I wanted it to be somwhere gritty, and I've always heard that Bracknell is a little (perhaps a lot?) rough.

This is my first stab at writing anything that can be considered in the realm of smut. Let me know what you think!

* * *

**Unexpected Visitors**

Someone was yelling and the voice was somehow familiar. Ron glanced up the high street to discover that the shouting coming from inside his brother's store was carrying quite far: Several shoppers had come to a halt mid-stride, and were gazing with open curiosity at the closed business. Harry appeared suddenly at his side, and after exchanging a wary look; they both drew their wands and pushed through the door.

"…_BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF!"_ The voice was five times louder inside the store. Ron racked his brain desperately, trying to pair the screeching female voice with a face_. "THE LAST THREE TIMES I WAS HERE YOU WERE SO PISSED YOU DIDN'T EVEN KNOW WHO I WAS!"_

"Angelina?" Harry whispered, peering at Ron with a bemused expression. That was it. Ron nodded at Harry, not even bothering to speak over her shrieking.

_"I'M CERTAINLY ASHAMED OF YOU! YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE A GRYFFINDOR! YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE BRAVE! INSTEAD YOU LOCK YOURSELF AWAY IN HERE LIKE A COWARD!"_

Together he and Harry tiptoed around the narrow hallway, until they were both peering into the little office off the main store. George sat on the only tatty armchair in the room, and Angelina was towering over him, absolutely terrifying in her rage.

_"…EVERYTHING YOU BUILT TOGETHER JUST SLIP AWAY? FRED WOULD BE DISGUSTED! __**HE**__ WOULD BE ASHAMED!"_

George jumped suddenly to his feet, his face quickly transforming from numb and unaffected to livid.

_"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME?" _He roared, his face beet red. "_WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY? THAT I FEEL LIKE HALF MY FUCKING SOUL WAS RIPPED AWAY FROM ME? THAT I'M SO FUCKING SAD THAT IT'S ACTUALLY PHYSICALLY PAINFUL? THAT I DON'T KNOW WHO THE FUCK I AM WITHOUT HIM? DO YOU WANT ME TO CRY AND TELL YOU ALL ABOUT HOW I WISH EVERY FUCKING SECOND THAT I HAD DIED TOO? THAT I DON'T KNOW HOW THE FUCK TO FUNCTION ON MY OWN?"_

_"WHY NOT?" _Angelina bellowed, not backing down an inch. "_ANYTHING IS BETTER THAN LIVING IN A FUCKING BOTTLE LIKE YOU HAVE BEEN, YOU SELFISH PRICK! YOU'RE BREAKING YOUR MOTHER'S HEART…AGAIN! ONLY FRED DIDN'T HAVE ANY CONTROL OVER IT AND YOU DO!"_

An unsteady silence fell between them, as they both seethed, their anger apparently beyond words. Ron gazed across the narrow hall at Harry who was looking at Angelina with a mixture of awe and anger.

Ron felt only awe.

Since Fred's death, George had been unreachable. His grief was so all-consuming that it left him bound and gagged…a very lonely shell of his former self. So Ron didn't care that Angelina's words were cruel because they had solicited the first genuine response from him since The Battle of Hogwarts, and sometimes, in very rare cases such as these, the ends did justify the means.

The continued their silent showdown for several more moments before the fight seemed to drain from George and he slumped back into his armchair, his face once again sliding back to it's frozen mask.

"What does it matter?" he muttered darkly, gesturing vaguely around himself. "What does it matter if I lose it all? I don't want it without him."

"_NO!" _Angelina shouted, apparently unwilling to relent. "_IT SHOULD MATTER TO YOU BECAUSE IT MATTERED TO FRED! I NEVER KNEW THAT YOU WERE SO SELFISH! IS IT ONLY ABOUT WHAT YOU WANT? WHAT YOU FEEL? HOW HEART BROKEN YOU ARE?"_

George didn't respond. Instead, he leaned back comfortably into his chair, his freckled fingers wrapping around the long, green neck of a familiar bottle that had been resting on the floor.

"_GIVE THAT TO ME!" _Angelina snarled, snatching the bottle from his hands and throwing it into the empty fireplace where it shattered. "_FRED DIED, GEORGE, NOT YOU!"_

He simply folded his hands in his lap and stared straight through her, as though she weren't there.

"_YOU BASTARD!" _Angelina yelled, her voice finally cracking on a sob. George simply continued to stare forward. She drew her hand back and whipped it across his face with what looked to be all the strength she possessed. The resounding crack echoed around the small room for several moments while Angelina studied George's impassive face. "_BASTARD!" _she cried again, bringing her hand down on his face again.

Ron lost track of how many times Angelina slapped his brother, but when she took hold of his shoulders and began to violently shake him, Ron had to restrain Harry from intervening. George had reacted to her once, and he wanted to give her the opportunity to break through his numbness once again.

"_WAKE UP!" _she was screaming manically. "_WAKE UP AND FACE IT YOU SELFISH, SELFISH PRICK!"_

This time when her hand connected with his face, it was in a tight fist. Blood blossomed from the small cut above George's eye, and when Angelina brought her fist back again, he sprang quickly to his feet, grabbing her hand, and forcing her arm down to her side. He pushed her aggressively across the room, slamming her back against the wall next to the fireplace mantle.

Ron tensed, preparing to pull his brother off of their friend, but as he watched he quickly realized that it would not be necessary. Gripping her face firmly, George crushed his lips to Angelina's. She responded by grabbing two fistfuls of his hair and pulling him more securely against herself. After a moment George's hands moved to the front of her shirt, which he ripped unceremoniously open, sending buttons flying in every direction. Angelina responded by pulling recklessly at George's belt, and then fumbling with his fly.

Ron looked over at Harry in absolute horror for the smallest fraction of a second, before they both turned and fled the store. _Ugh._ Angelina and George going at it was definitely on his list of things he would rather kiss Grawp than see. Still, for the first time in months, Ron felt an odd sense of relief where George was concerned. He had showed actual, real emotion, even if it was in the form of screaming and swearing.

"Well," Harry began carefully. "That was…"

"Completely bloody mental," Ron finished for him. "One minute they're about to take each other's heads off, and the next minute they're-"

"Yeah I know, I was there, thanks," Harry quickly interrupted him, looking ill.

"Well I reckon we can get out of here," Ron said. "Angelina will…you know…take care of him and all."

"Yeah," Harry nodded still looking pale and slightly revolted. "I could go for a Butterbeer Extra."

"Yeah, but let's stay out of the public eye, yeah? I'm not anxious to give the bloody reporters another go after Hermione and Ginny's cameo in that ruddy magazine." Ron glanced around as he spoke, wondering if they were being watched at that very moment.

"Grimmuld Place, then?" Harry asked, following Ron's lead and glancing around suspiciously. "I wanted to talk to you about something anyway."

"Yeah all right," Ron agreed, his curiosity peaked. He turned on the spot, opening his eyes moments later to find himself on the front stoop of the old house. Apparating precisely onto the topmost step was a habit that Ron had not yet been able to shake.

"So what did you want to talk to me about?" Ron demanded as he trailed Harry into the house.

"Well," Harry began, scratching the back of his neck. "Have you noticed how…overworked everyone at the Ministry seems to be?"

Ron shrugged, not sure what Harry was getting at. "Yeah. They're understaffed. So?"

Harry leaned against the kitchen counter and sighed deeply. "Kingsley came to see me."

"What? When?"

"The night Liam McCarthy came to tell Hermione she would have to tell the Ministry about the Malfoys. He said he understood about me not wanting to jump into being an auror, but asked if I would be interested in acting as an advisor and assistant of sorts."

"Bollocks!" Ron couldn't help the incredulous look he knew was etched on his face.

Harry pushed his glasses up his nose with a long, pale forefinger. "I told him thanks but no thanks."

"Oh well…that's good…right?" Ron wasn't sure where to put his support. In truth, he just wanted Harry to be happy, whatever form that might take.

"I thought so, but now I'm not so sure. They need help, and I think I could give it."

"So you're not going back to Hogwarts then?" Ron asked directly, tired of trying to puzzle it out. For a moment Ron watched the internal battle play out on his best friend's face, before it smoothed into a look of resolved tranquility.

"No," Harry shrugged. "I don't think I am. We worked too hard to bring down Voldemort to allow another shoddy Ministry to take his place. If Kingsley trusts me enough to want my opinion, then I'm going to be around to give it to him."

Ron couldn't help the laugh that escaped him; half amused and half exasperated. He could always count on Harry to do the noble thing. "But is that what you _want_, Harry?"

Harry smirked, and shrugged tiredly. "Well I won't get to see Ginny quite as often as I'd like…"

"Watch it, Potter," Ron growled. Although he knew that Harry treated his sister like gold, it was still weird to think of them together in that way and so he avoided it as often as possible. "I don't fancy hearing about you fraternizing with my baby sister."

"You had that coming and worse after the little display you and Hermione put on last night?"

Ron cursed the Weasley tendency to blush, knowing his face had gone scarlet. "What are you talking about?" he asked, deciding to play dumb.

"_What are you talking about_?" Harry mimicked laughingly. "You two were as subtle as our Gringott's break in!"

"Don't know what you mean," Ron muttered.

"Yeah all right," Harry laughed. "I would rather not know anyway."

Ron sighed. "Look, nothing happened. Really. We're not ready. Not yet."

The smile slipped off Harry's face and he exhaled, looking strangely relieved. "Oh. Really? I though that…well…"

"Well what?"

Ron could practically feel the heat radiating off of Harry who seemed to have to work hard to get the words out. "It's just that Ginny and I were sure that once you and Hermione…well…got together, that _everything_ would happen pretty quickly."

"Oh." _Well that's not so bad_, Ron supposed. "Why?"

"Probably because you're both functioning under the influence of seven years of suppressed sexual tension."

Ron spun around to face his sister, who stood just outside the kitchen with an amused smirk turning up her mouth.

"Wha…How do you…what would…SHUT UP, GINNY!"

She laughed gently as she entered the kitchen and jumped up onto the counter next to Harry. "So," she began, her voice just a little too light. "How was George?"

Harry met Ron's eye over Ginny's shoulder and they both burst into uneasy laughter.

"What is it?" Ginny demanded, looking from one to the other.

"Well," Harry grinned, looking uneasy. "He, uh, had company."

"Ok? Who?"

"Angelina."

Ginny's brow creased in confusion. "Angelina Johnson?"

"The one and only," Ron confirmed.

Ginny scrunched up her face. "What was she doing there?"

"Beating the hell out of George." Ron shrugged as though it was all very simple.

"_What?"_

"I'll let Harry explain it all to you," Ron said, stretching his arms high above his head. It had been a long day, and all he wanted now was to hold Hermione close and listen to her prattle on about something especially boring.

"Did Hermione go home?" He asked his sister, interrupting whatever she and Harry had been discussing.

"Yeah, she said she wanted to get an early start on her textbooks," Ginny explained distractedly. Ron thought he recognized the way she was looking at Harry, and it only hastened his departure. He definitely didn't want to be around if they were both going to be staring at each other like a pair of lovesick puppies.

"I'm off then," he said. He decided not to take it personal when the only response he got was a hazy wave from Harry.

Several minutes later he found himself staring up at the lovely, albeit imposing brick structure that was Hermione's house. He had never entered through the front door before, and he found that the prospect made him oddly nervous. What if her father answered? What would he say to him? Did he know that he really know that he was Hermione's boyfriend? The questions seemed to chase each other around in his mind. Taking a deep breath, he bounded up the wide, stone steps and pushed the buzzer.

"Ron?" He had been expecting Mr. Granger, so Hermione's face surprised him when it appeared from behind the door. He opened his mouth to say 'Hello', but a voice from inside silenced him.

"…vell, ve only spent one summer there."

"_Krum?"_

Hermione huffed. "It's Viktor, Ron."

Ron could feel his mouth moving, but he could not force the words out. He wanted to shout. No, he wanted to punch Viktor-sodding-Krum in his balls. What the hell was he doing at Hermione's house?

"He was here when I got home," Hermione explained quietly, motioning for Ron to come in. "He was in the area with his team and he decided to pop in for a visit."

"Oh how bloody wonderful," Ron hissed back, as the sound of Hermione's parents' laughter issued from within.

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and set her mouth in the way she reserved for when she planned on being particularly difficult. "You can stay, but only if you behave yourself."

"Oh I'm staying," He assured her firmly. There was no way in hell that he was going to leave her alone with Bulgaria's answer to Don Juan. Ron knew that he was no where near as smart as Hermione, so he couldn't understand how she could fail to see that Krum had more than friendship in mind for her. "As long as he stays, I'm staying."

Hermione's eyes slid closed and she released a slow, calming breath. "Ron, I've had a really long day, and I've no interest in getting caught up in another one of your jealous tantrums. I love _you,_" she blushed. "I want to be with _you_. If that's not enough assurance for you, then you should just go home now."

Ron's gut reaction was to reply sarcastically, but Hermione's words penetrated through the illogical jealousy just in time. She did love him…he knew that. And she had proven that she wanted to be with him, when she had forgiven him for leaving. He wouldn't let Viktor Krum ruin how far they'd come. And he certainly wasn't going to let Viktor Krum drive him away from _his_ girlfriend's house.

He cupped Hermione's face gently between his hands, admiring her porcelain skin and the pale pink blush across the apples of her cheeks. He allowed his eyes to linger on the small smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and the way her eyes sparkled, even in the dim light of the foyer. Slowly, very slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers, enjoying the heat and electricity that seemed to build and crackle around them.

He forgot the time and place. He forgot his name. His hands, which began gently holding her face, were now tangling into her sweet smelling hair. Her mouth was so warm and inviting that he felt himself kiss her harder, trying to somehow experience more of her.

He knew Hermione had pushed up onto her tiptoes, because her mouth was suddenly more accessible, and so he deepened the kiss, stroking her tongue with his own. He felt her arms curl around his neck, and he responded by pulling her flush against his body. Without consciously deciding to, he stumbled forward and pinned Hermione between his body and the wall, his hands sliding down to grip the seat of her skirt. She gasped and then kissed him more forcefully, causing him to moan softly into her mouth. He had never felt so close to imploding, and yet he never wanted it to end.

"Ron! Ron!" Hermione panted, breaking their kiss. "We have to stop."

Ron swallowed several times, and took a step back, nodding his head. "Right. Yeah."

Ron stared into Hermione's eyes for two short seconds and knew that he had to kiss her again. Immediately. At the same time he moved forward, so did she, and they were once again kissing deeply, holding each other with almost painful intensity.

"Hermione?" Mrs. Granger's voice rang out several moments later. "Hermione? Where are you?"

"Here mum," Hermione called breathlessly, pushing herself away from Ron with open reluctance.

"Hermione," Ron hissed, looking down at his pants in humiliation. Hermione followed his eyes and stepped in front of him just as Mrs. Granger appeared.

"Oh hello, Ron." Mrs. Granger looked pleasantly surprised. "How lovely to see you. Will you be staying for dinner?"

"I wouldn't want to impose," Ron said politely, cringing when his voice cracked.

Mrs. Granger smiled. "Nonsense, you're always welcome, you know that."

"We'll just be another moment, Mum," Hermione interrupted, her face still red. "Will you tell Viktor?"

"Of course, sweet. Are you feeling all right? You're so flushed."

"I'm fine, Mum," Hermione laughed. "Ron and I just need a minute."

Ron watched as a light went on in Mrs. Granger's eyes, and tried not to blush again as she raised an eyebrow and smiled at him knowingly.

"Don't be long," she warned, suddenly stern.

"She knows," Ron moaned, when Mrs. Granger had gone. He dropped his forehead on to Hermione's shoulder and closed his eyes.

"That we were snogging?" Hermione asked. Ron nodded his head without lifting it. "So?"

"So? _So?_ Hermione she probably thinks I'm a deviant! What if she tells your father?!"

Hermione laughed. "Honestly Ron. Come on, we'd better join them. We wouldn't want mum and dad to think we're having a shag in the foyer."

"_Hermione!_" He hissed, half terrified and half enthralled that she had referred to them shagging. She only laughed, took his hand and began to pull him further into the house.

He followed her blindly, too caught up in the opportunity to admire her from behind to notice much else. Soon, however, a very deep, very mature, very Bulgarian voice broke through his Hermione-induced distraction.

"So that is vere I vill be spending the vest of the summer," he was saying.

"Well the French Riviera is certainly beautiful," Mrs. Granger said agreeably. "But I hadn't realized there was a Wizarding population there."

"Vell it is very small, and of course ve must live secretly there as ve do here in England, and in Bulgaria as vell. This is the first time they are holding training in France, and as you can imagine, all of my teammates are thrilled."

Mr. Granger suddenly stood and stepped forward to shake Ron's hand. "Ron, how are you?"

"Good, thanks sir," Ron said, feeling a surge of gratitude toward Hermione's father.

"Viktor, do you know Ron?"

Viktor stepped forward stoically, his dark eyes giving Ron a quick once-over. "Not vell, but I haff read a lot about you in the papers recently. You are very famous now."

"Right," Ron laughed without humor, gripping Viktor's hand with more force than necessary. Viktor's eyes narrowed by a fraction, and Ron realized with a great deal of satisfaction that the Quidditch star had to look up quite a bit in order to meet his gaze.

The doorbell suddenly trilled again, abruptly ending their silent staring-contest. Ron, not used to hearing a doorbell, whipped around to determine the source of the noise, and Viktor took advantage of his distraction by claiming the spot on Hermione's right.

"Oh, that'll be the takeaway," Mrs. Granger laughed nervously, a reaction to the open tension in the room. "Hermione, why don't you help me? You boys go and have a seat at the table and we'll be right in."

Mr. Granger climbed to his feet and, when Viktor wasn't looking, raised his eyebrows at Ron as if to say, _"A little competition, huh?"_ Ron narrowed his eyes and Mr. Granger pushed his lips together as if to suppress a chuckle.

They sat for a moment in awkward silence, Viktor fidgeting with his beard and staring at a spot over Ron's right ear. Mr. Granger was digging in the refrigerator, whistling as though Christmas had come early.

"Fancy a Robinson's boys?" He asked, popping up with two bright orange bottles.

"Hugo! You know how much sugar those have! They're terrible for teeth!" Mrs. Granger scolded as she entered the kitchen carrying a large paper sack.

"All in moderation, dear." Mr. Granger said, taking the bag from his wife.

"That smells vonderful," Viktor said, popping up and taking the bag Hermione was carrying. Ron balled his hands into fists so tight that his stubby nails bit into his palms.

"Yeah," he said, jumping to his feet. "What is it?"

"Chinese," Hermione said, an excited smile light her face. "I haven't had it in ages. You're going to love it, Ron!"

Ron smiled back at her, completely forgetting Viktor and even the Grangers for a moment. She was so lovely, and all he wanted was to kiss her again.

"Haff you ever been to China, Hermy?" Viktor asked, puncturing Ron's thoughts. _Hermy? Who in the hell was Hermy?_

"No, I've not been yet, but I would love to go," she said, seeming flustered.

Viktor opened his mouth, but Ron couldn't help but cut across him. "Let me guess, you holiday there for Midsummer's Day?"

Somewhere behind him, Ron heard Mr. Granger snort softly. For his part, Viktor merely stared at Ron for a moment before turning back to Hermione. "I haff visited often with the team. It is a beautiful country. Perhaps someday you can watch me play there."

The blood began to pound in Ron's ears and he opened his mouth to tell Viktor where he could visit next, but Hermione grabbed his hand and pulled him back to the table.

"That would be great," she said, with a smile. "Ron and Harry love Quidditch."

Viktor merely smiled politely, and accepted the plate that Mrs. Granger offered him.

Soon they were all seated around the Granger's impressive dining room table, with various open take-away cartons. Ron had never had Chinese food before, but found that he quite liked the friend rice.

"Ron, vill you be returning to Hogvarts this September?"

Mr. and Mrs. Granger both turned to look at Ron, their expressions expectant. Apparently Hermione had not informed her parents that her boyfriend would not be completing his formal education.

He swallowed his chunk of broccoli and cleared his throat several times. "No, actually I've been accepted for the next Auror academy, so that's where I'm headed come September."

"Oh?" Mr. Granger asked, all joking gone from his face. "But Ron, your education is very important. "

"Dad," Hermione intervened. "Ron's been given a great honor. The Auror Academy is extremely difficult to get into. It's almost like the Royal Military Academy, but perhaps even more particular. He has a very bright future ahead of him."

"Really? That elite is it? Well good for you, Ron!" Mrs. Granger smiled, seeming somewhat impressed. Ron tried not to look guilty, because like Harry, he was beginning to have second thoughts about his decisions for the fall. Ron decided to say nothing for the moment, because like his wife, Mr. Granger seemed appeased and satisfied with Ron's career aspirations.

The rest of the meal passed in polite conversation, and after the dishes had been cleared away, and the left over food stored, Mr. and Mrs. Granger excused themselves to take a walk in the nearby park, leaving the young people on their own.

They sat awkwardly in the Granger's parlor for nearly an hour, stumbling through uneasy conversation. Finally, just when Ron was on the verge of explaining to Viktor the definition of a 'third wheel,' he stood and announced that he had to be on his way.

"I'll walk you out," Hermione said with a nervous glance at Ron.

Ron jumped to his feet. "We'll walk you out," he amended. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him, and Ron simply shrugged. "Don't want to be rude."

They moved as one to the front door, where Ron nearly bit through his tongue when Viktor kissed Hermione's hand and bid her goodbye.

"I'll thank you not to kiss my hand," he said stiffly, giving Viktor another bone-crushing handshake.

"Be good to her, Veasley," Viktor said so softly it was for Ron's ears alone. "I vill be vaiting if you are not."

Ron grinded his teeth. "You're going to have a bloody lonely life then."

Viktor glanced over at Hermione and studied her in a way that made Ron want to break his hooked-nose. "Perhaps, but I vill take my chances."

He and Hermione watched Viktor plow down the front steps on bowed legs before she shut the door and leaned heavily against it.

"That was a nightmare," she moaned, her eyes closed.

Now that Viktor was gone, Ron could afford to be generous. "What?" he joked, tickling her side. "I was under the impression that you _adored_ Vicky!"

"It's Viktor, Ron. And I do think he 's quite kind and…well-intentioned, but the two of you in the same room…" she shuddered dramatically.

"Honestly Hermione, he's a ruddy knob-head. What did you ever see in him?"

She closed her eyes tightly and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Ron, you were doing so well, why did you have to ruin it?"

"I'm sorry," he said, and found that he meant it. "Look, forget I said anything. Please?"

He stared at her pleadingly, and after a moment she opened her eyes and smiled. "I hate when you do that to me," she declared, her voice accusatory.

"What?"

"Look at me like that, and get yourself right off the hook."

He was intrigued. "Look at you like what?"

"Like that," she spat, gesturing at him. "With that maddening smile and those eyes."

"What about my eyes?" He asked, taking a slow step toward her.

She swallowed loudly. "Uh, they're just so…blue and…intense. They make me feel funny."

"How do they make you feel funny?" He took another slow step forward, his eyes locked on hers. She was breathing heavier now, he noticed gleefully. He wondered if she would be hot to the touch.

"They make me feel terrified and excited all at the same time," she explained breathlessly, as though she had no control over her words.

He stopped short, her words piercing him. "Why terrified?"

She was suddenly teary, and it took her a moment to answer. "Because I love you so much. Honestly Ron, it's a little pathetic. You could crush me so easily, and you don't even realize it. When you look at me like you are now, I would do anything for you. All you have to do is ask."

Ron reached out and gripped her small waist with one of his large hands, drawing her to him swiftly. He crushed her against his chest, and kissed her desperately, possessively. "You're mad," he whispered, dropping kisses all over her face. "_I'm_ the one who loves _you_."

He was once again holding her hard against his body, his hands making the descent from her waist to her bottom. Just as they were reaching their destination, Hermione moved against him accidently, causing him to gasp, and ball up her skirt in his hands. He groaned loudly when he realized that his hands were resting against the silky fabric of her knickers, instead of her cotton skirt.

"Ron, we can't do this here," Hermione gasped, as he continued to kiss her neck.

"Right," he said, knocking her legs out from under her with one arm, and supporting her back with the other. Cradling her against his chest, he closed his eyes and concentrated with all his might on her room at Grimmuld Place. He knew they had made the trip successfully when he smelled the dust and parchment smell of old books, mingled with Hermione's perfume.

Without missing a beat, he set her on her feet and continued to kiss her passionately. Hermione responded by wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him back onto the bed with her. She tugged firmly on his shirt, and he was happy to oblige her by pulling it over his head and tossing it to the floor.

They continued to kiss heatedly, and because Ron knew he had permission to do so, he slid his hands under her sensible skirt and gripped her pert little bottom firmly.

"Ron," she whispered breathlessly. "Ron, please touch me."

He wanted to desperately and in so many ways, but he wasn't sure what she was asking. He brought a hand up hesitantly to her neck, and slid it down slowly until it was resting on the peak of her right breast. He continued to kiss her deeply, and when she didn't protest, he squeezed gently feeling that he might explode from the pleasure of it all.

He brought his lips to her neck and gently sucked at the skin just below her jaw, before trailing kisses farther south. He kissed and licked across her collarbone and onto the smooth plane of her chest, where he was forced to stop by her button-down shirt. Resting above her on his elbows, he raised his eyebrows in question and she nodded in silent consent. He brought trembling fingers to her first button, and after fumbling with it for a moment, managed to get it undone. Unable to wait to get them all undone, he stooped back down and began to kiss the newly exposed skin. The combination of her position on the bed, and her ragged breathing, had caused Hermione's breasts to push up, and Ron felt his erection throb longingly as he kissed the tops of them for the first time. He was driven forward however, by his need to see more of her, to feel more of her, so he pulled back once again, and worked on the remaining buttons, until her navy blue shirt lay open, exposing Hermione in nothing but a very pretty and simple, midnight blue bra.

A bright flush stained her cheeks as he studied her, and Ron stroked her face gently.

"You're beautiful," he assured her. "So beautiful."

She smiled and seemed to visibly relax some, although she was still breathing heavily. He kissed her gently on the lips, before bringing his mouth back down on her pale breasts. He kissed the tops, and sucked gently on the skin there, before trailing his tongue over the fabric of her bra, where her nipples stood erect and hard.

"Hermione," he moaned, burying his entire face in the small valley between her breasts. "You're so fucking gorgeous."

"Ron?" her voice was uncertain. "I…I want to touch you."

"You are, Love," he managed to answer, not quite understanding what she was getting at.

"No, Ron. I want to touch you, touch you."

_Oh!_ "I don't know Hermione. We're already breaking our rules as it is."

"Oh sod the rules," she said firmly. "We're still not…going all the way. I just want to touch you."

He kissed her again very fiercely, pushing his tongue deep into her eager mouth. "I've already told you, Love, you can touch me wherever you'd like."

He began to once again tease her nipples through the material of her bra, when he felt Hermione's hand slide hesitantly, almost shyly, down his stomach and below the waistband of his jeans. After a moment he nearly shouted with surprise and pleasure.

Hermione wrapped her small, warm hand around him loosely and stroked gently.

"You're skin is so soft," she said, her voice full of the wonder of a new discovery. Ron couldn't manage an answer, and after a moment of silence she looked up at him. "Does that feel could or something?" she asked after studying his face for a moment. Ron could only nod.

"Hmm," she continued thoughtfully. "I wonder?" She gripped him more firmly and stroked with much more confidence and Ron felt the somewhat familiar beginnings of something powerful inside him. He allowed her to stroke him twice more before he rolled away from her, and gripped her bed-sheets tightly.

Well, he would need to change his trousers.

"Did you..?" she asked softly.

"Yeah," he answered, feeling elated and embarrassed at the same time.

Hermione looked triumphant. "Good."

"Proud of yourself, are you?" He asked, reaching out to pull her close, feeling suddenly awkward.

"Yes, I think I am," she said, sounding a little too light. She studied Ron for a moment before asking in a small voice: "Was it all right for you? You don't regret what we did, do you?"

"Are you kidding? Of course I don't! That was the most brilliant fifteen minutes of my life." He cupped her cheek and stroked her face gently with his thumb. "Do you regret it? I don't want you to do anything you're not ready for."

She smiled tumultuously and shook her head. "No, I don't regret it. That was the best fifteen minutes of my life too."

"Really?" Ron couldn't help the smile that was suddenly pulling at his mouth. "The best fifteen minutes ever?"

"You're insufferable," she laughed, shaking her head.

"You like me insufferable," he reminded her, kissing her nose. "You are a crafty little harpy, too," he added. "Don't think I'm not on to you!"

"What?" she demanded, looking completely confused.

"You know this is going to make it just that much harder for me to go to Bracknell, now I'm used to sleeping in the same bed as you and snogging you senseless every night."

Hermione threw her head back and laughed freely. "Yes well, you have only yourself to blame. A deviant like you taking advantage of an innocent schoolgirl like me. Honestly, what would your mother say?"

"Ugh," Ron said, crinkling his nose. "Hermione, love, do me a favor and _never_ mention my mum while lying half naked with me in bed."

He was rewarded by another carefree, musical laugh.


	10. Rain

A/N: Thank you to all who have reviewed-all of your input is very encouraging. This chapter came as a bit of surprise to me, but I'm excited about where it's going to take the story. Sorry it's a bit shorter than usual, but life is busy!

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**Rain**

Hermione sighed contentedly and wrapped the maroon afghan around her shoulders more securely. A violent rain was pounding against the Burrow's windows, but Hermione felt incredibly warm and secure, sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, between her two best friends.

"We didn't rate the front page today?" Harry asked casually, having glanced over at the magazine that Hermione was reading.

Hermione shook her head with deep regret. "No, sadly today we only made it to page three."

"Getting better," Harry sighed. "We'll eventually bore them so much that they'll give up."

"As long as we keep Hermione and Ginny away from the whiskey, that is," Ron added, his eyes alight with mischief.

Hermione picked a crisp from the bag that was lying open between them, and chucked it at Ron. "Get stuffed!"

"Temper, temper," he laughed, picking up the crisp and shoving it into his mouth. "That's the kind of behavior that will keep us in the news."

"I'll give them a headline, all right!" She narrowed her eyes at both of them as they snickered. "Hermione Granger Strangles Ronald Weasley."

They laughed again, and although she continued to glower, she couldn't really feel angry. It was nice to see Ron in such high spirits and Harry so at ease. It was relief to be sitting in between them, with nothing better to do than eat crisps and read rubbish magazines. Especially with a goodbye looming so close on the horizon.

The weeks since Viktor's unexpected visit had passed in a blur for Hermione. Between helping her parents re-open their practice, reading her new textbooks, and spending time with Ron, Harry, and Ginny, she had been quite busy.

The last week of July and Harry's birthday came and went with unprecedented swiftness. The Daily Prophet had dedicated the July 31st issue to her friend, featuring a biography, a breakdown of all of Harry's likes and dislikes, and various interviews given by obscure classmates from Hogwarts. There was even a section dedicated to minute descriptions and rumors regarding his and Ginny's relationship. Ginny had simply laughed, before chucking the paper into the nearest bin. Harry had been furious.

"I don't know why everyone is so damned interested in what I had for breakfast and what toothbrush I use!" He had exploded.

For his sake, they had kept his birthday celebration to a minimum, all gathering in the Burrow's back garden for a twilight supper. Luna had been in attendance, and everyone was so happy to see her that Harry's mood had improved significantly by the end of the evening.

Now, however, Hermione found herself staring down the last week of August, and she was still painfully unsure of how she was going to be able to say goodbye to Ron…as well as Harry.

"Come on, Hermione, we were just taking the mick," Harry said, reading the change in her expression.

She shook her head. "No, it's not that. I was just thinking about how…strange it's going to be come September. I'm going to miss you two insensitive gits."

"Aw, Harry, I reckon she likes us," Ron teased, tickling her side.

"My point exactly," she laughed.

"It won't be so bad," Harry said bracingly. "We'll come to see you and Ginny every Hogsmede weekend, and you'll come to us for Christmas Holiday."

"Yeah, and maybe I'll borrow Harry's invisibility cloak and sneak into the Head Girl's quarters every now and then."

"Tell her hello for me," Hermione said dryly.

"Come off it," Ron rolled his eyes. "You know the position is yours."

"Not likely," Hermione sighed. They had had this conversation many times already. "I didn't even go to Hogwarts last year. I _could_ be wrong, but I think that you at least have to be a student at a school in order to be named to a position of leadership within that school."

"Yeah, yeah, we've heard it all before," Ron said, tossing away his magazine and stretching. "You can tell me how brilliant I am when you get your badge."

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but Harry quickly cut across her. "What should we do until Ginny gets here? I'm bored stiff."

"Fancy a fly?" Ron asked, suddenly enthusiastic.

"Ron, it's raining buckets out there!" Hermione laughed.

"It could be fun," Harry nodded, glancing out at the sheeting rain. "You'd have to loan me a broom though."

"Well all of our brooms are crap, but you wouldn't want to take a nice one out in this anyway."

"It's way too dangerous to go out flying!" Hermione insisted, glancing from one excited face to the other.

"We have to stay low anyway, and the brooms will keep us from going too fast," Ron assured her.

"Absolutely not," Hermione said with finality. "There is no way we're going out in this."

* * *

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Hermione moaned loudly ten minutes later. She looked at him with anxious eyes, her hair plastered to her face by the unrelenting rain. After only five minutes in the gale, her yellow shirt and cardigan were already completely soaked through, and Ron found it quite difficult to keep his mind focused on something other than the way the wet material clung to her skin.

"Just hold on tightly to the handle," he said, his mouth very close to her ear so that she could hear him over the gale.

"You'd better take it easy," she warned as he climbed onto the broom behind her. "You know I'm afraid of flying."

"I'll be careful, after…"

"After wha-"

Ron didn't give her a chance to finish, but kicked into the air at a fast clip. Hermione's first scream had not yet died when he pointed the nose of the broom downward in a steep dive.

"Ronald Weasley you complete arse!" She shrieked when they had leveled out. "If you cause me to break my neck I will kill you!"

"A little trust please, love," he laughed, tickling his fingers across the wet fabric that covered her ribs. "I am a star keeper after all."

"Ron!" she shrieked again, twisting away from his tickling.

Ron watched her scoot to the very end of the broom with rising panic. Happy for a reason to touch her, he snared her waist with his arm, and pulled her against his chest.

"Don't fall," he warned. "I'll be good," he assured her in a low voice, his lips brushing against her ear.

Her response was automatic: Even in the cold rain she flushed as though she were suddenly very warm. Ron found himself remembering the night of Viktor's unexpected visit, and the intimate events that had followed after. He and Hermione had not had two minutes alone since, and Ron was both regretful and relieved. Regretful because his eighteen-year-old hormones wanted nothing more than to be alone with her, and relieved because he desperately didn't want to ruin their relationship by being completely inept.

Suddenly, impossibly, the rain picked up in intensity, and Ron found himself squinting just to see anything at all.

"Where did Harry go?" Hermione asked suddenly, her voice barely a whisper against the howling wind.

Ron scanned the sky in front of him, until he was able to make out Harry's blurred figure doing loop-de-loops some ten feet away.

"He's there," Ron called back to Hermione, motioning to their friend.

"He seems happy," Hermione shouted above the rain, turning her face slightly toward him. Ron couldn't resist. Releasing the broom with one hand he cupped her wet cheek and kissed her full lips gently. She tasted like rainwater, tea, and even somehow like the sweet smell of her perfume.

"What was that for?" she asked at a shout when he finally pulled away.

"I've never kissed you in the rain," he shrugged. "It's brilliant."

Hermione studied him affectionately for a moment, before turning away from him and leaning into his chest once again. She began trembling slightly, and Ron became worried that he had somehow upset her.

"Hermione, did I say something wrong?" he asked, his voice growing hoarse from shouting. He had not been paying attention to where they had been flying, and as he looked around he realized they had flown outside the boundaries of the protective wards. Oh well, he didn't see any reporters around, at least.

When she turned around, her face puzzled, Ron realized that her lips were beginning to turn an alarming shade of purple.

Her shaking was not crying, but shivering.

"Hermione, you're freezing!" He exclaimed, rubbing a hand up and down her arm. "You were right, we shouldn't be out in this. I can't see a damned thing!"

Hermione shook her head frantically. "No! Can't we stay out a bit longer?"

"What?!" He demanded. "Are you running a fever all ready?"

Hermione laughed against his chest, and turned her face up to the rain. Ron watched her completely in awe. She was magical in every sense.

"I'm leaving soon," she finally shouted, her face still turned up to the sky. "And I like having you up here all to myself."

Ron sighed at her words and rested his chin on her shoulder.

"Besides," she continued, turning and dropping a kiss on his cheek. "I haven't seen Harry this carefree in weeks…maybe even months."

Ron held her even more firmly and closed his eyes. "I love you," he told her, almost frightened by the intensity of the feeling.

"Well you'd just better," Hermione laughed. "Now that you've corrupted me and all."

"Speaking of which," he said huskily into her ear. "When do you think I'll be able to corrupt you some more?"

Her laughter rang out freely, audible even over the rain.

Ron opened his mouth to say something else, but quite suddenly he couldn't feel Hermione in his arms anymore. His senses and mind felt utterly deadened, as though someone had filled his head with cotton. He was aware only of a strange rushing of air around him.

Abruptly, the rush of air stopped, accompanied by the jolting return of all his senses. Colors and lights burst behind his eyes, and his lungs burned acutely as all the air they held was forcefully pushed out.

He battled against the blackness that was threatening to overwhelm him, but every moment he felt his hold on consciousness slip a little more. He was on the cusp of going under when Hermione's panicked shrieks reached him through the fog. Drawing a shallow breath into his aching lungs, Ron forced his eyelids open.

Rain poured into his face in torrents, filling his mouth, nose, and eyes. This made him realize that he was lying on his back, staring up at the angry, gray sky. Had he fallen?

Hermione's incoherent screams still filled his ears, but he could not locate her through the thick rain. Taking another shallow breath, he dug his nails into the mud and pushed himself into a sitting position.

That is when he saw them.

Standing no more than ten feet away stood two men in dark cloaks, their backs turned to him, and their wands aimed at the sky.

"Protego! Protego! Protego!"

Ron heard Harry's shout before he saw him. But suddenly he was there, appearing out of the rain as fast as his battered broom could carry him.

"Hermione!" Harry screamed desperately. "Hermione-Protego!-climb higher!"

As Harry zoomed toward her, Ron was finally able to make out Hermione, barely visible through the pouring rain. She seemed to be flailing about erraticly, but Ron couldn't be sure. In front of him, one of the cloaked men laughed.

"Viscus exuro!" He brandished his wand like a whip, and seconds later Hermione cried out in pain. Ron watched in horror as she seemed to curl in on herself for a moment, before going limp and toppling from the broom.

"Hermione!" he screamed, barely aware of the way his lungs burned in protest. As he watched, Harry swooped beneath her, one arm outstretched. She crashed into his broom violently, causing it to tumble wildly through the sky. Harry, no doubt utilizing all of his flying experience, managed to maintain his grip on both Hermione and the broom, and after a moment, seemed to regain control. It was far from over, however, because as Harry began to make his way to the ground, another volley of curses was sent their way. As Ron watched, a jet of green light which seemed to burn brighter than all the rest, passed through the air where Hermione and Harry had been just a moment earlier.

Ron forgot the pain in his lungs, and the pounding in his head. He forgot that he had just fallen from a considerable height, and that he might have internal injuries. He even forgot that he had a wand. As the larger of the cloaked-figures raised his wand once again, Ron jumped to his feet and launched himself across the few meters that separated them, knocking the man to the ground.

"You son of a bitch!" Ron grunted, straddling his chest and punching the stranger in the face with all the force he possessed. Without stopping to assess the damage, he continued to assault the man's face with a volley of brutal punches.

Suddenly Ron found that he could hardly breath as though someone were squeezing his neck with crushing strength. The man underneath him took advantage of Ron's moment of distraction by knocking him aside and scrambling to his feet.

"Moron," a voice with a strange accent taunted. "Did you forget that he was not alone? I should kill you now!"

"No," said another voice, this one breathless. "Make him watch as we kill his Mudblood whore and worthless friend."

"Fine!" The strange accent agreed reluctantly, clearly not pleased with the delay. "Sectusempra!"

Ron couldn't contain the yell that escaped his mouth as deep crimson blood blossomed across his chest and stomach. His hands flew automatically to his wound, but there was so much blood that he knew he would never be able to stop it on his own.

Damn it, he was going to die.

"I knew they would come for him," the accent-less voice said with satisfaction. "For being little more than vermin, they are faithful. I get the mudblood."

Ron watched with weakening strength as the tall figure lifted his wand. Although he could not see Harry and Hermione through the thick gray clouds, he was certain that they were on their way, unwilling to abandon him to an unknown fate. He knew also with certainty that if the tall, cloaked man were able to fire off another killing curse, than this time he would not miss.

With trembling fingers Ron fumbled in the waistband of his trousers for his wand. Seizing it, he called on his last reserve of energy and screamed the only curse that he knew, if cast correctly, would be enough to save his best friends.

Finally spent he collapsed into the mud, hoping that it _was_ enough. Hoping that that he had done it right. Hoping that Harry would realize he was done for, and get Hermione out of there safely.

Hermione…

As the world went dark around him, Hermione's face blossomed in his mind, rich with detail. Her brown eyes sparkled, her hair wild on her shoulders, and her cheeks flushed pink.

Ron hoped fervently that Harry and Ginny would look after her…


	11. Ultimatums and Apologies

A/N: Thank you to all who took the time to review the last chapter!

* * *

Ultimatums and Apologies

"…escaped from Smith's custody as he was being transported from Hogwarts. Smith is very torn up about it, you can't imagine, but you really can't blame the man. Brown-his partner- had just died in the battle, after all, and he was operating on no sleep. He wasn't in the best form."

Consciousness was beginning to reach Hermione, but the voice that filled her ears was not yet clear. She wasn't sure how long she had been listening, but the words held little meaning to her. The only thing that was distinct at that moment was the pain that seemed to crackle beneath the skin of her abdomen and throat.

"No one was in the right frame of mind at that point," another distantly familiar voice contributed. "Please understand that's not an excuse, just the truth."

Hermione tried to marshal her thoughts and every shred of strength so that she could force her eyes to open, but no matter how hard she seemed to try, they remained resolutely shut.

"Hermione told us about how…well, it must have been awful," she recognized her mother's strained voice immediately. "But I can't pretend this isn't devastating. Are you quite sure she wouldn't benefit more from a nor-from one of our hospitals?"

"Quite sure," The efficient voice answered. "The muggle doctors, while being quite competent I'm sure, do not have the training to handle injuries of this kind. I know she looks terrible, but the mediwizards have every confidence that she will make a full recovery."

"A miracle." Hermione's father's voice was hard. "That's what that…that witchdoctor said. It's a _miracle_ my daughter is alive. A miracle this-this curse could be contained and healed."

The room was silent for a moment, and Hermione once again struggled to open her eyes. She wanted to assure her mum and dad that she really was fine, that she had had worse, although the burning pain that once again ripped through her stomach was far from pleasant.

"I'm sorry for what your daughter has suffered, Mr. Granger," the deep voice answered, sounding truly sincere. "But because of the role that she, Mr. Potter, and Mr. Weasley played in bringing down Voldemort, I'm afraid she will always be a target of sorts."

This time the silence was different, charged. When Mr. Granger spoke again, his voice shook with outrage and disbelief. "So you're telling me that my daughter, _my only daughter_, will always be _hunted_ by God-damned _SOCIOPATHS?!_"

"Hunted might be a strong word," the voice hedged. "Most of Voldemort's supporters have been captured or killed. The rest will be far too afraid of meeting the same fate to be too outspoken or proactive."

"Right." Hermione recognized the resolve in her father's voice, and she worked harder than ever to open her eyes. "I'm not willing to risk it. Move out of my way, we're getting her out of here."

"Please, Mr. Granger," a familiar voice implored. "Your daughter is in need of the treatment and protection she is receiving here."

"The fact that she's here at all is proof that your _protection_ is useless!" Mr. Granger bellowed.

"By removing her you put, not only Hermione at grave risk, but yourself and your wife as well," McGonagall explained reasonably. "Miss Granger knew the danger and risk she was assuming when she accompanied Mr. Potter on his quest last summer. She knew the lasting affect it would have on her life. She made a great personal sacrifice for the Wizarding World, and she is a hero in the truest sense because of it, but make no mistake, Mr. Granger, she got into this situation with eyes wide open."

"She's an idealistic and headstrong girl who did not fully comprehend the finality and…far-reaching consequences of her decisions," Hermione heard her father insist angrily. "And she is not conscious to make the decision for herself, so her mother and I are making _this_ decision for her."

Hermione felt her father's arms slip under her body and heave her up. The jostling caused a white-hot pain to shoot through her abdomen and down her legs, and if she had been able to, she would have cried out.

"Get out of my way," her father's voice reverberated against her ear, which was resting against his chest.

"Mr. Granger, _please_," Hermione heard McGonagall implore. "There are still Death Eaters on the loose, and if they hear that Miss Granger is out from under our protection and lying in a Muggle hospital, she's as good as dead!"

"Mr. Granger-" The somewhat familiar voice began reasonably, before being cut off by yet another voice-one of cold steel.

"Put her down."

Hermione had _never_ heard Harry sound so coldly menacing, and despite being a prisoner in her own body, a chill ran down her spine.

"Harry, get out of the way! You're the reason she's here at all!"

Hermione mentally flinched for the sake of her friend.

"That's true," Harry said, his voice perfectly even. "But at least she's still alive. You heard them; if you take her out of here, they will kill her."

"She's my daughter," Mr. Granger hissed. "I will keep her safe."

"No." Harry's voice left no room for compromise.

"Mr. Potter! Harry!" McGonagall cried suddenly, and Hermione knew that her friend had pulled his wand. It was a testament to their friendship that she was not worried; she had complete faith that Harry would not hurt her father.

"Mr. Potter," the distantly familiar voiced warned.

"Please, Mr. Granger," Harry begged, betraying emotion for the first time. "Please don't make me stun you. I don't want to, but I will. Hermione stays here. The end."

Hermione felt her father's heavy breathing and knew that he was struggling with his anger. She had never wanted more desperately to speak. If she could, she would tell him that Harry was right, that she needed to stay. She would assure him that everything would work out in the end.

She felt her father turn stiffly, and the next moment he was easing her back onto the soft mattress.

"If anything happens to her," he choked, and Hermione couldn't tell if it was from anger or tears. "I will hold you responsible."

"Yes," she heard Harry agree, sounding so much older than eighteen.

"And we're only leaving her in this damned place until she wakes up," he affirmed. "Then she's going to check herself out of here."

"Hugo," Hermione finally heard her mother speak up. "Perhaps we should go get some coffee? Professor, is there a café nearby?"

"Yes, of course," said McGonagall, seeming very relieved. "Just up the street. I'll show you."

"Thank you."

Hermione couldn't help but wonder about her mother's quiet calm. How did she really feel? She hoped fervently that her mother would prove to be an ally.

Hermione listened as several people made their way to the door, and after a moment her room became so quiet that for some time she thought she was alone.

Then she heard Harry give a choked sort of sigh and sink heavily into, what she assumed, was a seat beside her bed. Very tentatively, almost as though he was afraid of disturbing her, she felt him take her hand.

"Please be all right," he whispered desperately. "Please, Hermione. Be all right."

He did not speak again, although he continued to hold her hand in his clammy one, and after a long while his even breathing and the pressure on her arm told her that he had fallen asleep.

As Harry slept, Hermione's mind filled with thoughts of Ron. Where was he? Was he hurt? Was it much worse? Had they been too late? No, she wouldn't think that…and she couldn't dwell on it. Her mind and heart recoiled from the idea that they were too late, the thought much too painful to consider further than a passing panic.

Besides, if Ron were dead, Harry would certainly not be here with her. Knowing Harry, he would probably be-no; she wouldn't allow her mind to go there either.

As she lay there, the worst thoughts and memories seemed to chase themselves around and around in her mind, making it impossible to sleep. She kept seeing Ron's face, just before he left, when he realized that she would not be going with him. Next, she was back in Bathilda Bagshot's house, being dragged desperately across the room by Harry. She recalled with acute detail the absolute and dreadful certainty she had felt that they were surely about to die. She also remembered quite clearly, how relieved she was that Ron had not been with them…that he would live on and perhaps, one day, be happy.

Inevitably came the memories of Malfoy Manor, and repetition had done nothing to ease the horror. As she lay there completely motionless, echoes of the Cruciatus Curse seemed to pulse through her skin, and for a moment she was once again on the floor of Malfoy Manor, begging for death. With great concentration she was able to mentally shake the memory off, and lock it away securely in its box where she would deal with it later.

With a start she wondered when she had begun to compartmentalize things. It wasn't like her. She was the kind of witch who faced her problems and dealt with them head-on. Yet the idea of digesting her torture, moment by agonizing moment, was not something she was prepared to deal with.

The next memory was the most horrid of all, and as soon as it solidified in her mind, she pushed it away as well, faster even than her memories of Malfoy Manor. Her mind had only a moment to form the scene, and yet every detail was precise: She remembered the rush of cool air as she and Ron staggered to the entrance of the great castle. She remembered the terrible, bone-chilling wail that had issued from Professor McGonagall, and then she remembered seeing Harry, lying limp and lifeless in Hagrid's arms.

She had reached for Ron's hand at the same moment he had reached for hers. The impulse had been automatic, rooted in, not their newly acknowledged romance, but rather their deep and enduring friendship. One in which they shared with the boy whom they had both believed to be dead in that moment. Hermione didn't have a memory of crying out, but Harry had later assured her that she had. Apparently so had Ron. All Hermione could remembered in that moment was feeling as though the whole world had violently and irrevocably shifted, and the only thing keeping her anchored, the only thing keeping her from falling headlong into the abyss, was her hand in Ron's.

All of those memories washed over her in the millisecond before she could recoil away from them. The heartbreak and terror of that moment knew no bounds. The Cruciatus Curse couldn't compete.

Suddenly a cool hand took Hermione's free hand and held it tightly, and had she the ability, she would have shrieked in surprise. After a moment of continued silence, the even breathing to her left assured her that the newcomer was not a threat.

The night seemed to crawl by for Hermione, who seemed incapable of sleep and equally incapable of avoiding dark memories. With Harry's head resting on her right hand, and the mystery person still gently gripping her left, at least she wasn't alone. She longed to be near Ron, to know where he was-that he was all right, for although she didn't know who was keeping night-watch over her alongside Harry, she knew without a doubt that it wasn't Ron.

After what felt like several hours, Hermione felt Harry's eyelashes flutter against her hand just before he gave a surprised start.

"Hey, you," He croaked after a moment.

"Hiya," a female voice whispered. Hermione smiled internally. Ginny. She should have known.

"How long have you been here?" Harry asked at a whisper.

"Dunno. Three hours?"

"Have you been home at all?" Harry demanded, suddenly stern.

"Don't start, Harry," Ginny warned. "He's my brother, and Hermione's one of my best friends too."

"Yeah," Harry agreed quietly. "You still need rest."

"How about I take a nap when you do?" Ginny's tone was sarcastic, but also very tired. Hermione wondered how long they had all been there. Time had lost all meaning.

"How's Ron? Is there anything new?" Harry asked after a moment of strained silence.

"He's still unconscious. I came here after George and Percy got back, but before I left I heard the Minister and Dad talking. They know who the other _bastard_ is. He's called Aurick VanFleet and apparently he was working to gather up support for Voldemort in Germany. He was being watched by the German Ministry for suspected conspiracy to organize crimes against Muggles."

"Fucker," Harry spat.

"Yes," Ginny agreed. "He's refusing to talk to the Aurors…he's refusing to talk at all! Liam is sure that he's been working with others, but they can't get a thing out of him! He just sits there and smirks! The son-of-a-bitch just a-attacked…just attacked…"

Hermione listened as Ginny took a deep, ragged breath, obviously trying to master her emotions. She heard Harry's chair scrape across the floor as he stood, and the next moment Ginny's labored breathing was muffled as Harry murmured soothing nonsense.

Hermione began to struggle once again against her paralysis. She _had_ to know if Ron was all right. Ron had to be all right.

"I'm sorry, Harry," said Ginny brokenly. "I've been a right bitch to you."

"Sh, Gin, don't," Harry said softly.

"It's supposed to be over," she continued, her voice a mixture of sorrow and anger. "The war is supposed to be over."

"It is, Gin," Harry assured. "We won. We just have to keep winning. That bastard won't get away with this."

"Ron."

Both Harry and Ginny whipped around as one to stare down at Hermione, their eyes wide with surprise and relief.

"Ron," Hermione repeated again weakly. _Why wouldn't they answer her?_

"He's alive, Hermione. He's alive," Harry assured her, cottoning on.

"What hap…" she couldn't finish her sentence-her throat felt as though it were on fire.

"Rudolphus Lestrange and some German bastard attacked us," Harry took her hand again bracingly. "You and Ron were both cursed."

Hermione continued to stare from Ginny to Harry, and after a moment Ginny cleared her throat.

"Aurick VanFleet, he's the German bastard, cursed you, Hermione. The curse he used, Viscus Excuro, is really rare. It…it basically burned you from the inside. That's why you can't really talk…your throat was burned."

"The Mediwizards say you'll make a full recovery though," Harry added immediately.

"Because you got help right away," Ginny contributed. "Harry apparated the both of you here as soon as…as it was over."

"Ron?" She asked again, immensely thankful that she could finally demand some answers, albeit weakly.

"Sectusempra," Harry explained. "He lost a lot of blood. A lot. He also broke four ribs and tore his pancreas when he fell from the broom. He's on a lot of potions right now, and he hasn't regained consciousness yet. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are with him. So are George and Percy."

"The Mediwizards expect him to make a full recovery as well," Ginny added gently. "It's just going to take a bit."

Hermione allowed her eyes to slide closed in relief, feeling suddenly very tired. However, before she could sleep she had to assure herself that she could once more move on her own. She flexed her fingers straight out, balled them into a fist, and then stretched them out once again.

"You were delirious for a bit," Harry said softly, his eyes troubled. "The curse was…very painful…and you were…hysterical for a while. The Mediwitch on call was afraid you would damage yourself further with all your…your thrashing, so she gave you a powerful potion that causes temporary paralysis. I guess it's wearing off."

Hermione wiggled her toes and nodded.

"You're tired, you should sleep," Harry said, gazing down at her in concern. "I'm going to pop in on Ron, but I'll be back. I expect your Mum and Dad will be back soon as well."

Hermione wanted to order them both home to bed, but knew that it would be a wasted effort. So instead, she settled for a weak nod and smile before succumbing to a deep and dreamless sleep.

* * *

Ron could feel the power coursing from somewhere deep within his chest, from a spring that, at the moment, seemed more substantial than his heart. He could feel the strange, heady sensation travel up his arm, and he watched in fascination and surprise as it burst from his wand in a blast of green light.

Death. Terrible and unstoppable. Pure power, concentrated, mastered, and directed.

Ron watched in horrified fascination as the light passed through a tall, cloaked figure in front of him. Soundlessly the figure crumpled, and when the hood fell back, Fred stared at him through unseeing eyes.

Someone was screaming, and the sound was almost inhuman in its anguish. Ron's eyes flew open, and began to search frantically for the source of the despair, but was met only with looks of equal horror.

"Ron, snap out of it mate," Harry's face hovered above his own, and his green eyes were scared. "Get the Mediwitch, quick," Harry ordered someone over his shoulder before returning his gaze to Ron.

"Ron, you're all right now, son." His father comforted, his face appearing beside Harry's.

Ron's heart continued to slam in his chest as he realized with a jolt that he was the one screaming. His dream was slipping away far too quickly to make much sense of it, and yet Fred's dead eyes remained stubbornly in his memory.

He snapped his mouth shut, but could do nothing to regulate his labored breathing or his galloping heart. What had happened? Where was he? Where was Hermione?

"Where…where…?"

"St. Mungo's," Harry responded immediately "And Hermione's going to be fine."

Ron nodded, eternally grateful that Harry knew him well enough to immediately supply the vital information. The Mediwitch had entered and was waving her wand over Ron's heart, and down the length of his body.

"Are you in any pain, Mr. Weasley?" She asked him in a surprisingly husky voice.

Ron moved his joints very carefully, but apart from a slight burning in his ribs, and a dull ache in his lower back, he was fine. "I'm all right," he replied. He eyes sought Harry once again, "What happened?"

"We were riding brooms at The Burrow…"

Harry trailed off as Ron's face dawned with understanding. Of course. They had been attacked. "Hermione? Where is she?"

"She's in another wing. She was hit with a rare curse. She's being treated by specialists."

Ron looked Harry dead in the eye, feeling blind panic threatening to take hold. Memories of the attack flew back at him, the details fresh and concise. He remembered the rain filling his eyes as he searched the skies desperately for Hermione and Harry. He remembered watching in horror as Hermione fell from their broom, her body limp and lifeless.

"You caught her," Ron croaked, needing to confirm his memory.

Harry nodded. "Yes."

The rest of the memories came then: the curses flying at his best friends, the terrible green light missing them, but just barely. Ron remembered forgetting everything but his rage, and launching himself at the taller of the two figures. His hands found his chest as he remembered Sectusempra, and the blood…so much blood that the mud and rain water around him had begun to run red. He had been sure that he was going to die. He had been sure that the cloaked figure was going to kill Hermione or Harry, and he had been desperate to prevent it in anyway he could.

Next he remembered…

His eyes snapped over to Harry's once more, and in Harry's gaze was all the confirmation that Ron needed. For a moment he wondered what kind of person being able to cast such a curse made him. Try as he might, however, he couldn't bring himself to feel sorry.

"Swear to me, Harry." He didn't mean to whisper, and yet his voice seemed to have abandoned him. "Swear to me Hermione is all right."

Harry held Ron's gaze, "I swear. She woke up very early yesterday morning. She's with her mum and dad now."

"And you're all right?"

Harry smiled slightly. "I'm fine, mate."

"Ok, then," he said, turning his eyes to the ceiling above him. He wanted to be alone for a moment, as the memory of the revolting feeling of pure power coursing up his arm washed over him.

"Mum's on her way," George said, appearing in the doorway looking pale. "Glad you're awake, mate. A deal's a deal after all."

Ron nodded, his thoughts still on sickly green light.

"I'm going to go see Hermione for a bit," Harry said, and Ron knew his friend was just trying to give him time alone with his family.

"Harry," Ron called, just as he reached the door. "What was his name? Who was he?"

Harry sighed tiredly, but a hatred had entered his eyes that Ron recognized. "It was Rodolphus Lestrange."

Ron nodded and returned his gaze to the ceiling. How strange, even now Rodolphus Lestrange was just a name and a picture in the paper. Ron had seen him a few times from a distance during the battle, but never face to face. It was strange to not even know what he looked like…not really.  
"Oh Ronnie!" Mrs. Weasley squealed upon entering the room. She flew to the bed and fluttered over him nervously. "How are you feeling, darling? Are you in any pain? Should I go get the Mediwitch?"

"I'm fine, Mum," Ron assured her as heartily as he could. "Just a little sore. And the Mediwitch has been here already."

Mrs. Weasley cupped his cheek gently, and looked down at him with so much unconcealed tenderness that Ron felt as though he were eight years old again.

"Really, Mum, I'm fine," he assured her, forcing a weak smile.

"Well you must be starved, then," she insisted. "I'll just go ask them to bring you something up."

"Thanks Mum."

When his mother had left, Ron turned to his father who had been watching him intently. "How long have I been here?"

His father sat forward in his chair, looking weary. "Nearly four days, now. Harry brought you both here as soon as…" His father sighed and ran a hand across his face. "How much do you remember, son?"

Ron returned his eyes to the ceiling. "Everything. Only, I don't know what happened to the other..._one_…who was there. Who was he?"

"His name is Aurick VanFleet, and he is one of Voldemort's German supporters. He just happened to be in Britain during Voldemort's fall, and has been unable to return to Germany, what with magical transport being so closely monitored. The International apparation boarders have been reinforced so securely that you need a level four Ministry clearance to get in or out of the country."

"So he joined forces with Lestrange?"

"We don't know anything else, he won't talk. We believe that he was a guest at Malfoy Manor, and met Lestrange there, but as I said…"

"He won't talk, yeah," Ron nodded. "What happened? How was he stopped? Did Harry curse him?"

"No, Ginny did. She came home just after you lot went out to fly. She saw flashes of light and came running. VanFleet never knew what hit him. She used a bone-crushing curse and knocked him out cold. He's not happy to be in custody, either, I can tell you that much."

Ron only nodded gain, feeling as though his head were too full of racing thoughts to focus on just one. He stretched experimentally and felt a sharper pain than before in his lower back. Ignoring it, he pushed himself into a sitting position and then made to swing his legs off the bed.

"What do you think you're doing?" His mother demanded as she re-entered the room carrying a small tray. "Get back in that bed!"

"I need to stretch a bit," Ron said, ignoring her. He stood slowly, and tried to grip the bed inconspicuously when he began to feel woozy.

"Ronald Weasley, you get back in that bed this instant! You're still recovering! You suffered some very serious injuries!" His mother put her tray down and made to push him back in bed.

"Mum!"

"Molly!"

Both Ron and Mr. Weasley admonished gently.

"Get back in that bed, Ronald!" Mrs. Weasley insisted angrily.

"Mum, back the hell off!" Ron yelled, suddenly angry beyond reason. He pushed away from the bed and stalked crookedly from the room, not wanting to wait around to see her reaction.

"Mr. Weasley! Can I-"

"No!" Ron snapped, cutting off the perky MediAide. For a moment she looked shocked, and then hurt, but Ron ignored her and continued his trek down the hall.

He didn't know what was wrong with him, or where his anger had come from. He only knew that he had to get away from everyone so that maybe he could make sense of what he had done.

As he approached the last door of the Curse-Reversal Ward, Ron heard a voice raised in agitation that he recognized to be Mr. Granger's.

"This world isn't what we thought it would be, Hermione!" he was saying. "We embraced you being a witch, didn't we? We allowed you the chance to hone your gift! Now you have, so it's time to return to a normal life. A _safe_ life."

"This is normal for me, Dad," Hermione insisted, her voice beginning to transition from patient to angry. "I am a witch, and this is the world I belong in!"

"Being a witch only means that you are in possession of special skills that others are not. It is not what defines you, Hermione!" He continued tenaciously. "You must leave this all behind before you're killed! I know you love Harry and Ron, but there are times that call for selfishness, and this is one of those times! If they're real friends, than they will want what's best for you, and what's best for you is to take your A Levels and try for University!"

Ron's heart froze. Mr. Granger wanted Hermione to leave the Wizarding World behind? How could he even ask it?

"I won't!" Hermione cried. "I can't and I won't."

"Well I can't sit around and watch my only child kill herself. _I can't and I won't._ I've tried to be understanding and open-minded. When you came home every holiday, on the holidays you actually came home, bruised and battered, I always accepted your explanations and trusted your judgment. When you explained about Harry, and your unwillingness to abandon him, I admired your loyalty. I even forgave you for Australia. But I can't pretend anymore, Hermione. Your life is in constant danger here, and it's not fair to your mother and I to always have to sit at home and wonder if today's the day you're going to be killed."

"I won't leave, Dad," Hermione growled through her tears.

The room fell silent, and for a moment Ron thought the worst was over. When Mr. Granger spoke again, however, his voice was strained as though he were trying valiantly to master his emotions.

"I love you, Bear." He said. "But I can't be part of your deathwatch anymore. I refuse to pay for your return to Hogwarts, and if you persist in being apart of this world, then…well…I can't be a part of your life."

"That's not fair!" Hermione's wail speared Ron through. His hand was on the doorknob before he could think clearly, and he just managed to stop himself from bursting into the room. "How could you possibly ask me to pick? T-the Magical World isn't a hobby, Dad! This is a part of who I am…an indispensible part! I c-can't give it up! You're asking me to be someone else, and I can't! You don't understand. I just can't!"

"I do understand, Bear. Really, I do understand. I can't either."

A moment later the door was pulled from Ron's hands, and there stood Mr. Granger, looking suddenly old and painfully sad. He stared into Ron's eyes for a moment, before resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Look after her, Ron."

Before Ron could respond, Mr. Granger had pushed past him and was halfway down the hall.

When Ron walked into Hermione's room, Mrs. Granger was kissing the crown of her daughter's head gently.

"Give him time, darling," she was saying. "He's just terrified of losing you."

"But he hasn't lost me," said Hermione, her voice choked. Neither she nor Mrs. Granger had noticed him enter. "He's given me away."

"No, he's trying to be in control," Mrs. Granger insisted. "He doesn't like that he can't protect you-that he hasn't been able to since you were eleven years old and we surrendered you to a world that we can never fully be a part of. It's hard all around. Please, just give him some time."

Hermione didn't answer her mother, but instead closed her tear-swollen eyes.

"I'll be back tomorrow, love." Mrs. Granger said gently, glancing over her shoulder at Ron. "Things will look better than."

"Ron!" Hermione cried when her mother had gone and she finally opened her puffy eyes. "Ron, you're here!"

Ron, forgetting all else, hobbled to the bed as quickly as he could, and gently took Hermione's face between his hands.

"Oh! I was so scared when I woke up and you weren't here, but I made Harry swear to me that you were really all right because I couldn't get up to check on you myself because I'm still recovering, and it actually hurts quite a bit when I move too much, but oh! I'm so happy you're here! Things have been so horrible, and my father wants to me to leave the Magical World and go to Muggle university, but Ron I could never do such a thing!"

Hermione continued to babble, but Ron wasn't able to keep up with most of it. Instead, he rememorized the contours of her face, the shape of her lips, the sound of her voice…

"…he's from Germany and-"

"You cut your forehead," he said, cutting across her and touching the gash with gentle fingers.

"Huh? Yes, I did, when Harry caught me. I don't remember any of it."

Ron felt a little envious. "Good. "

Hermione's eyes grew wide, and then she took Ron's hand and tugged on it gently. "Sit with me."

Ron eyed her single bed critically. "I don't know. I don't want to hurt you. Harry said that wanker's curse hurt you pretty badly. That you were being treated by specialists?"

"Please, Ron," Hermione whispered. "I'm all right, honestly. I just have to move carefully."

He sighed. How could he say no? "All right, budge over. Carefully."

Hermione scooted gingerly over, and Ron lay back next to her. She took his hand timidly, and he unexpectedly lifted her knuckles to his lips, blushing all the way to his hairline.

"Do you remember everything?" Hermione asked after a moment. Ron could only bring himself to nod. "I was unconscious for most of it," Hermione continued. "But Harry told me what…what you did."

Ron sucked in a deep breath and kept his eyes resolutely on their entwined fingers. He was stunned when a warm drop of water splashed onto his knuckles.

"I'm sorry, Ron," Hermione whispered.

"What in the hell do you have to be sorry for?" Ron demanded, his eyes snapping up to search her tearful ones.

"Because you did…what you did to protect me and Harry. I'm sorry that it was necessary."

It was on the verge of Ron's tongue to tell her that he wasn't sorry-that he could not find regret anywhere in him, but he closed his mouth tightly at the last second. He didn't want to see the revulsion on her face when he confessed to being a remorseless killer.

"So, we've got to figure out a plan to pay your Hogwart's tuition," he said instead.

Hermione searched his eyes for a moment longer, concern written on every feature of her face. With a sigh, she seemed to embrace the subject change.

"You heard our argument for yourself, then?"

Ron nodded. "I think all of St. Mungos might've heard it."

Hermione sighed once again, and the sound was shaky. "I don't understand how he expects me to-_I'm a witch_!"

Ron gently pulled his hand free from Hermione's, and wrapped his arm around her shoulders instead. She burrowed into his side and rested her head on his chest, causing a riot of emotions to swell in his heart.

"I mean, yes, I have been in a lot of dangerous situations, but what was I supposed to do? Sit back and watch as my best friends left to fight a war on their own?" Hermione was talking herself into a frenzy, and Ron knew, from many years of friendship, that she often had to talk aloud in order to organize her feelings. So, he contented himself with holding her, and listening to her tirade.

"… take my A-Levels as Voldemort took over the country? He's the one who taught me to fight injustice wherever I should encounter it! He's the one who goes to war-ravaged countries ever year!"

"Your dad sounds a lot like you," Ron noted when Hermione was forced to pause in order to take a breath.

"No!" Hermione snapped, sitting up and turning to face Ron with fire in her eyes. "He's pig-headed, and self-righteous, and the worst kind of know-it-all!"

In spite of the dark memories he had woke with, and the seriousness of the current situation, Ron found himself suddenly working very hard not to smile. Something in his eyes must have given him away, however, for the next minute Hermione's face had split into a sheepish grin as she smacked his arm smartly.

"_What?_" she demanded.

"I didn't say a word!"

"You didn't have to, I can see it all over your face! What?"

Ron couldn't help it, he chuckled and shrugged. "Well, it's like I said: Your dad sounds a lot like you."

Hermione smacked him again, but her eyes were dancing. "You arse!"

He pulled her close once again, and kissed her tousled hair. "What am I going to do?" she asked, her voice once again serious.

"Your going to go to Hogwarts, and go on with your life, and your dad will just have to come around, won't he?"

"What if he doesn't?" Hermione asked, her eyes fearful.

"Well, I reckon you're like your dad in more ways than just being a stubborn know-it-all. I bet he's good like you, too. You know, willing to do anything for the ones he loves."

Hermione cuddled into his side again, and, after another moment of silence, took a deep, ragged breath. "I thought you might try to side with my dad about school," she choked. "If I went to University I could be in Bracknell with you."

"True," Ron laughed, resting his chin on the top of her head. "But the Firsties need someone to boss them around, after all."

Hermione laughed and then winced, touching her ribs gingerly. "I'll spend Christmas holiday wherever you are."

"You're damn right you will," Ron affirmed, squeezing her gently. "And I'll be in Hogsmede ever minute I can be. Rumor has it this year's Head Girl is one fine looking bird."

Hermione sat up straight once again, and turned to stare at Ron in disbelief. "Ron, how did you know? Did Harry tell you?"

"Finally got your letter, did you?" Ron asked, scanning her bedside table for it. "I told you from the beginning that you were a shoe-in."

Hermione reached for a glass near her bed and took a sip of what Ron assumed was water. "Yes, I got my letter just this morning. Justin Finch-Fletchley is Head Boy."

"Hmm," Ron leaned more comfortably into Hermione's pillows and closed his eyes, feeling almost normal.

"What are you smiling about?" He heard her demand.

"Shh, for a second. I'm trying to imagine you in your Hogwarts uniform patrolling the halls. Ahhh, yes, there it is. That mental image is going to get me through a lot of cold nights."

"Ron!" Hermione screeched, completely scandalized.

"You can't blame a bloke," Ron said, as a thrilling mixture of nerves, fear, and recklessness washed through him. "You have such lovely legs, Hermione. The first time I realized that was on Prefect Duty, patrolling the halls. I can't tell you how many walls I nearly walked into because I was so busy watching your legs."

"Is that also why you always seemed unable to form a coherent sentence for the first two hours of our shift?" She asked shrewdly, although her face was glowing scarlet.

Ron shook his head, feeling bold from his success. "No, that was because I was afraid I would say something stupid and give away how much I liked you."

Hermione's face lit with a flattered smile. "Really Ron?" she demanded.

Ron laughed through his nose and rolled his eyes. "You really don't have a clue how terrifying you can be, do you?"

"I'm terrifying?" Hermione asked, narrowing her eyes exaggeratedly at him.

"Hell yes," Ron assured her. "But in all the best ways."

Hermione turned in his arms once again and gazed steadily into his eyes for a moment. Then, without warning, she kissed him gently, her lips full and warm under his. Ron was momentarily gripped by a desire to pull her to him, but remembering her injuries he forced himself to cup her face gently instead.

"The summer's gone by so fast," Hermione whispered breathlessly when they broke apart. "I can't believe I'm going back without you or Harry. I'm…terrified of not having you both near. It seems so unnatural."

He kissed the corner of her mouth and sighed, knowing exactly how she felt. Ever since the end of the war, Ron had felt uneasy every time Hermione or Harry had been out of his line of sight.

He wanted badly to urge her to reconsider. He was sure, looking into her vulnerable brown eyes, that it would not be hard to convince her that he and Harry still needed her, that it would, perhaps, be best if she stayed.

"Everything will be ok," he said instead. "You'll be so busy earning a thousand N.E.W.T.S, confiscating fanged Frisbees, and tutoring First Years to within an inch of their sanity that you won't even notice we're not around. And when you do, we'll nip down for a visit."

"I doubt the Auror Academy will be that flexible. You'll be learning advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts, and when you're not in training you'll be surrounded by pretty witches who just _love_ Aurors."

Ron laughed through his nose and tried to appear casual. "Ah yes, because what witch could resist an entry-level Ministry employee who doesn't have a sickle to his name?"

"Come off it," Hermione rolled her eyes. "Entry-level? Ron, you're going to be an Auror! Plus, you're Ronald Weasley, _the_ Ronald Weasley, as Witch Weekly likes to refer to you. You were named as one of Britain's most eligible wizards for Merlin's sake!"

Ron felt the heat crawling up his neck. He knew he had recently been named one of Britain's most eligible wizards but had tried not to be obnoxious about it. After all, Harry and Neville had been named as well.

"Maybe," he said, feigning modesty. "But to be fair, Witch Weekly has no idea that I snore."

"True," Hermione laughed. "They also don't know about your pygmy puff tattoo."

They were silent for a minute, content just to be close. Ron finally sighed, not wanting to break the unique magic he and Hermione made together, but knowing it was time to find his mum and attempt to make amends.

"I have to go," he said. "I was…rude to my mum and I reckon I should apologize."

"You were rude?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, I was feeling a bit stressed and…well…" he explained, hoping she wouldn't press for details.

"Oh Ron, I love your mum," Hermione sighed, squeezing him gently. "She's been here with me nearly as much as my own mum. I woke up this afternoon in quite a bit of pain and she insisted that the mediwitch give me my pain potion early."

Guilt made Ron's stomach clench uncomfortably. "Er, right," he said lamely. He kissed the top of her head, noting with deep appreciation the smell of her hair-a mixture of apple blossoms and vanilla.

"I'll miss that," Ron said, standing.

"What?" Hermione looked up at him, perplexed.

"The smell of your hair."

"W-what?" Hermione demanded strangely, blushing scarlet.

"Your hair," Ron explained, feeling like an idiot. "It smells like…well, you. It's, you know, nice."

"Oh," Hermione said simply, her face still pink. "All right, then. I'll see you soon."

"Yeah," Ron said slowly, wondering if the array of potions Hermione was on were beginning to take their toll.

"Mr. Weasley?"

Ron jumped. He had been so engrossed in Hermione that he hadn't noticed the young MediAide who had squeezed into the small room.

"You're going to have to leave now, Mr. Weasley. It's time for Miss Granger's sponge bath."

Behind him he heard Hermione spray the sip of water she had just taken across the room.

Images of the young MediAide and Hermione filled his mind, unbidden, and with another half-formed farewell to Hermione, he fled the room.

He found his mother sound asleep in the armchair at his bedside, and the guilt mounted once more.

"Mum," he said softly. "Mum."

She stirred and her eyes fluttered open. "Ron, is everything all right? Is Hermione ok? What's happened?"

She jumped to her feet and searched the room with frantic eyes, her face very pale.

"Everything's fine, Mum," he assured her quickly.

"Everyone's all right?" she asked anxiously, her eyes still searching the room for Ron wasn't sure what.

His heart clenched a little at how vulnerable his mother seemed in that moment. She had never been large: Even as a child he remembered thinking her to be rather small. Yet she had always seemed so capable, as though she had roots that reached miles into the ground, making it impossible to shake her. Fred's death, however, had brought her to her knees, and Ron noted with deep regret that she seemed especially fragile these days.

Ron nodded again. "Yes, Mum, everything's fine. I've just been to see Hermione, and she reckons she'll be well enough to catch the Hogwart's Express."

His mother seemed to have recovered from her shock, for she was now looking somewhat downcast and awkward.

"How are you feeling, Ronnie? Ok?"

"A little stiff, I think, but I should be fine. Mum, about earlier-"

"If you're feeling fine then I should go," she declared, cutting across him. "I don't want to be a bother."

Ron shook his head frantically. "No, Mum, you're not a bother! What I said earlier-"

"You don't have to explain, Son," she said gently. "I was coddling you, and you're much too old now. I forget how old you've become sometimes. You helped to defeat You-Know…Voldemort for Merlin's sake! You're going to be an Auror…"

Her voice was growing gradually quieter, and Ron was horrified to see that her brown eyes had filled with tears. God, he was an ass. He had made his mother cry!

"Please don't be upset, Mum," he pleaded. "It wasn't your fault that I was such a nasty prat earlier! I was just…it was a bit of a shock waking up here…and I didn't want to face anyone after what I…and I don't know what kind of person that makes me…and, Mum, I'm not sorry. Not at all. I know I should…but I'm not…"

Ron knew that he was making next to no sense, but he could not seem to stop his half-formed confession. He wasn't sure why he was telling his mum these things, but was grateful when her eyes grew wide, not with disgust, but with familiar compassion.

"…I'm a killer just like that fucker who killed Fred, aren't I? What makes me different? And Hermione knows, and Harry knows, but they just act as though everything…as though I'm not a murderer! They don't know that I don't feel bad! They don't know that I would do it again if I had to!"

Ron had talked himself into a frenzy much the way Hermione had, and to his horror he realized that he was now battling a large ball in his throat as well as pressure behind his eyes. He turned away from his mother, feeling completely humiliated.

Suddenly, from behind him he felt his mum's arms snake around his waist and hold him tight; her cheek seemed to be resting against his back.

"I'm not sorry either, Ron," she whispered hoarsely. "When I saw that…that _woman_ firing curses at my daughter…I could have killed her with my bare hands-I would have done if I hadn't had a wand." She squeezed him slightly tighter for a moment, and her words, though spoken softly, were fierce. "You are the best of all young men, Ronald Weasley, do not ever doubt that. There's no end to what a good person will do to protect their family."

She held him for a moment more, before turning to gather her cloak and battered handbag. "Get some rest," she instructed gently, reaching up to gently pat his cheek.

"Mum…I'm sorry about earlier," Ron said, feeling as though it wasn't nearly enough. "I…it was uncalled…I'm just…thanks, Mum."

She said nothing, only smiled up into his face, her eyes sad but also…proud?

"Get some rest," she instructed again. "I'll check in on you tomorrow."

Ron watched his mum disappear through the door before falling into bed, and dropping into a deep sleep that was thankfully free of dark curses and horrible green light.

* * *

A/N 2: Next chapter will find Hermione and Ginny returning to Hogwarts...stay tuned!


	12. Back to Hogwarts

Back to Hogwarts

Dear Ms. Granger,

Thank you for your prompt notification of your change in situation. Unfortunately, the war has left us an influx of students who are unable to pay tuition for the coming year, and as a result our scholarship funds have been exhausted. Do not fret over this, Ms. Granger. We would be happy to accept tuition in small installments as money becomes available to you. Board the Hogwarts Express as scheduled, and we will discuss your situation upon your arrival.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Hogwarts Headmistress

Hermione folded the heavy parchment and slid it into the front pocket of her skirt. She had re-read it several times in the two days since she had received it, and she still wasn't sure what she was going to do. She had a little less than two hundred pounds left of her Building Society savings, having given Mrs. Weasley and Ginny a significant amount the day before after they offered to purchase her school supplies for her.

"It's like you were never gone at all," Ginny said, appearing over Hermione's right shoulder in the mirror and eyeing her Hogwarts robes.

Hermione smiled at her in the mirror. "Is it strange that I'm nervous?"

"Not at all," Ginny said, pulling open a drawer beside Hermione and rummaging through it. "I'm nervous as well. It's like I'm eleven and it's my first day all over again."

Hermione nodded. "Exactly. That was the last time I went back to Hogwarts without Ron or Harry." Suddenly a beat up Ford Anglia appeared in her mind. "Well, since Second Year, anyway."

Ginny laughed loudly, apparently understanding where Hermione's mind had gone, and Hermione was suddenly very grateful that she would not _really_ be alone for the coming year.

Hermione's eyes scanned her room at Grimmuld Place, feeling a mixture of nostalgia and regret. She had refused to return to her parent's home when she was discharged from St. Mungo's, despite her mother's insistence. Her father had made it more than clear that he did not want her around, and Hermione refused to be where she was not wanted. Still, it was hard to lose her parents and childhood home so soon after just getting them back.

Instead, after Harry had made it clear that he happily assumed she would simply return to London, Hermione had returned to Grimmuld Place to take up semi-permanent residence.

"Hermione? Did you hear me?"

"Huh?" Hermione asked, her eyes refocusing on Ginny who stood smiling, once again, over her shoulder.

"I said we're scheduled to leave in twenty minutes. Do you want me to float your trunk downstairs?"

"Oh, yes please. Thank you."

Hermione lingered in her room until the last possible minute, hoping that Ron would come for a private goodbye. Memories of the night before passed through her head, causing her whole body to warm, but despite the fact that he had snogged her breathless, there had been something off. He had been distracted somehow.

When her watch read five minutes until they were scheduled to depart, she gave up and headed downstairs. She found the others in the foyer, her trunk and rucksack at Ron's feet.

"Ready, are you?" he asked, his mood oddly light.

Hermione had worried about him almost relentlessly since she had regained consciousness in St. Mungo's, and yet he seemed determined to not talk about their attack beyond generalities. Rudolphus Lestrange was never mentioned by name, and Ron dodged all references to his actions which had saved them.

"Just about," she responded with as much normalcy as she could muster. "I've just got to get Crookshanks in his-"

"Done," Ron said, waving his wand and causing an encaged Crookshanks to float into the air. Crookshanks gave an indignant meow.

"Thanks," Hermione muttered uncertainly. Why did it seem as though Ron was eager to get her to King's Cross? She had been sure that he was going to delay their departure until the last possible second.

"Let's be off then," Harry said, leading the way onto the outdoor landing.

Minutes later they arrived in an alley just a half-block from King's Cross Station.

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered, looking down the narrow alley. "How in the hell are we supposed to get your trunk to the station? We can't exactly float it by the Muggles, and we're too far out to find trolleys!" He touched his back, which they all knew was still very sensitive for him. His pancreas had been repaired well enough to leave St. Mungo's, but he was still recovering.

Hermione, who by this point was feeling very putout by his constantly changing attitude, shoved past him.

"I'll take care of it, Ron, no one said you had to carry my trunk for me!"

"Oh calm down, will you?" Ron snapped back. "I only meant to ask if you knew a spell."

"Of course I know a spell," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "And so do you! It's the weightlessness charm that we learned Third Year!"

She noted with a childish sense of satisfaction that Ron's ears had turned red. "Well go on and do it, then," he said shortly, crossing his arms.

Hermione waved her wand with deliberate movements and muttered the charm, and for a moment her trunk glowed faintly. When it returned to normal Ron reached for it, but Hermione knocked his hand away.

"I can carry my own trunk, thank you," she said loftily, pulling the trunk into her arms effortlessly, though it was still rather large and awkward to handle.

"Fine," Ron snapped, stalking ahead. "But I don't know what I'm supposed to have done!"

"Maybe that's the problem, Ron!" Hermione shrilled, realizing, once again, that she was being incredibly immature, and yet unable to stop herself.

"Uh, people are beginning to stare," Harry muttered, looking annoyed. "Maybe the two of you could keep it-"

"This is the last time we're going to see each other for God only knows how long, and you're picking a fight?" Ron demanded, paying Harry no heed.

"I'm picking a fight?" Hermione couldn't believe his nerve! He was the one acting as though her leaving was no big deal. _"I'm picking a fight?"_

By this time they were passing into the station, and had attracted the attention of quite a few other passengers, most of who seemed to disregard them as overemotional teenagers.

"Oi!" Ginny hissed, putting a restraining hand on Ron's chest, as he had just opened his mouth to bellow back at Hermione. "Have you forgotten that we're in the middle of King's Cross Station, and that we're almost certainly being watched by reporters?" She glared fiercely at Hermione. "Shut up, both of you! Hurry up and make up or you're going to have a miserable time of it, which means Harry and I are going to have a miserable time of it. No offense Hermione, but I don't want to spend the next three months listening to you agonize over how awful you were to Ron, and Ron, Harry doesn't want to hear it either!"

With that, Ginny turned and stalked away, Harry hot on her heels.

Hermione glared after them, willing herself not to cry. This was not at all how she imagined saying goodbye. It was almost as though all the progress they had made over the summer had never occurred.

She glanced over at Ron to find him sneaking a look at her, his arms still crossed defensively.

"Why is it that anytime anything begins to go well between us, we find something to fight about? What _are_ we fighting about, by the way?" she asked.

Ron let out what seemed to be an involuntary laugh and finally looked her full in the face. "I don't bloody well know! I thought maybe you would…"

Hermione stepped closer to him and dropped her voice several octaves. "I don't know, it just seemed as though you weren't really sorry to see me go."

"Of course I don't want you to go," Ron answered a little too quickly, his ears going a telltale red. "You don't know how badly I wished that you were st-" he stopped and shook his head, obviously trying to avoid another row. "Look, I'm trying to be supportive. You want to go back to Hogwarts and I don't want to make it any harder on you."

Heat was crawling up Hermione's neck to her face, and suddenly she felt incredibly ashamed. He was acting nonchalant in an attempt to make leaving easier on her. She was a terrible girlfriend, and she said as much to him.

"You're not," Ron assured her distractedly, a confused look on his face.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, peering up into his face.

Ron blushed again, and did all he could to avoid her eyes. "I just never thought of you as my girlfriend," he explained.

Hermione felt a coldness sweep over her as fear and insecurity leaped into her heart. "What? I just thought after this summer…and all our talks. You said you loved me!"

"What? Oh, Hermione, don't be ridiculous!" Ron rolled his eyes and actually had the audacity to grin down at her. "I only meant that, well, I always thought of you as more than…you know, than just a girlfriend. That word never seemed…big enough for what you are to me."

"Ron," Hermione half-laughed and half-cried before burying her face in the front of his robes. She felt his arms wrap securely around her, and felt her resolve crumble slightly. She had to get on the Hogwarts Express soon, or she never would.

"Come on," he said, seeming to read her mind. "We only have ten minutes before the train leaves." They walked hand-in-hand in a comfortable silence, until Ron gazed down at her with a bemused smile. "Why are you riding the train, anyway? You and Ginny can both apparate, so why not just apparate into Hogsmede?"

Hermione nodded, "True, but I'm Head Girl so I have to be on-hand to give the Prefects their instructions as well as to help keep order. Also, we both agreed that it would seem more…normal to take the train back to school."

They had arrived at the border between platforms nine and ten, and Hermione leaned against it casually, passing through to platform 9 ¾. She immediately spotted Harry and Ginny who both seemed oddly upbeat: As Hermione watched, Ginny threw her head back in laughter as Harry held her loosely around the waist.

"How do they do it?" she asked Ron, who had just materialized at her side carrying her trunk.

"What's that?" he asked, leading the way to the steaming train.

"They're so…cheerful, and they're about to say goodbye!"

"Er," Ron's neck turned red, and he became suddenly occupied with stowing Hermione's trunk on the train. When her trunk was securely stowed, Ron wordlessly took Crookshank's travel basket from her arms and stowed that as well.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at his back, feeling as she had earlier in the summer when he was constantly sneaking off to "owl George". Not wanting to row, however, she let it go for the moment, vowing to pester Harry about it the first chance she got.

All around them doors were slamming and parents were hollering final goodbyes to their children. A melancholy began to settle on Hermione, and she found herself wishing that her own mum and dad were there to see her off.

Ron seemed to read the emotion on her face, for suddenly he grabbed her hand and pulled her gently to his chest. She wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, and breathed in his scent. They did not speak, and Hermione felt content to simply soak in Ron's presence as he stroked her hair.

"You'd better go," Ron said, dropping a lingering kiss on her forehead.

Hermione nodded and reluctantly released Ron, feeling a jarring sense of loss. Suddenly Harry was at Ron's shoulder, and his eyes were serious.

"Bye then," he said with a small smile.

Hermione launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck and squeezing tightly. Harry, to her surprise, squeezed her back with just as much force.

"Take care of yourself, Harry," she whispered, unable to stop the tears that had seeped into her voice.

"You too," he said fiercely. "Send word if you need anything…and don't wander...the Death Eaters…" he squeezed her even more tightly. "Just take care."

Harry stepped back abruptly, and the moment he released her, Ron caught her up once again, this time kissing her fiercely. The kiss was so surprising that Hermione forgot that they were in the middle of a packed train station, as well as everything else apart from Ron and his lips on hers. The shrill whistle of the train broke the spell.

"I'll write all the time," she promised as he ushered her up the steps.

"You better," he growled, stretching to keep hold of her hand.

Hermione smiled at him, feeling strangely nervous. "Alright. Goodbye then."

Ron nodded then bounded suddenly up the narrow train steps, stopping only when he was inches from Hermione's face.

"I love you," he said softly. "I'll be losing my effing mind until I see you again."

Before Hermione could respond he had kissed her swiftly on the forehead once again, before bounding back down the steps to stand next to Harry.

Hermione took the final step into the train, and quickly found a window where she had a clear view of both Ron and Harry. She waved at them, and concentrated very hard on staying where she was. She had never been to Hogwarts without them, and she began to wonder suddenly if she wanted to. The train began to pick up steam, and even after they had disappeared from view, Hermione kept her tearful eyes fixed on the window. She was not sure how long she stood there, but feeling unbearably lonely, Hermione set out to find Ginny before she had to make her way to the Prefect Compartment.

"Hello Hermione," a dreamy voice said from behind her.

"Luna!" Hermione was so excited to see a friendly face that she actually threw her arms around her. Luna patted her vaguely on the back.

"How have you been since Harry's birthday? Did you and your dad get your house sorted out?"

"Oh yes," Luna said, smiling serenely. "We even added an office dedicated to our study of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack."

Hermione fought down her natural inclination to argue and did her best to smile warmly. "That's lovely."

"Hermione, there you are!"

A boy was striding down the aisle at them, and although he had changed a lot, Hermione recognized Justin Finch-Fletchley. He had become tall and rather broad in the shoulders.

"You probably don't remember me, but I'm-"

"Justin Finch-Fletchley, yes I remember," Hermione smiled as Justin nodded politely at Luna. "I didn't realize that you were returning to Hogwarts until I got the letter with my Head Girl badge."

"Well, I was undecided for a bit. The last year was very hard on my family. We had to go into hiding and my dad's well…" He shrugged.

"Yes," Hermione nodded, remembering that Justin's dad was part of the House of Lords.

"They were happy when we received word that it was all over, I can tell you. Anyway, we're all just about ready if…"

"Oh!" Hermione said, feeling the heat rush to her cheeks once again. "Have I kept you all waiting? I'm so sorry!"

Justin laughed, and shook his head. "No, it's all right. We've not been gathered together for all that long, but we probably should start patrolling soon."

"Right." She turned to Luna and smiled brightly at her. "Sit with me and Ginny at the feast?"

Luna's eyes seemed to grow larger. "Of course. I would love to sit with my friends at the feast."

"See you in a few hours then."

Luna waved vaguely and continued on her way as Hermione followed Justin to the front of the train. The moment she stepped into the compartment all conversation came to an end. Hermione watched as all eyes came to rest on her face as one. She felt as though she were something being studied in Potions.

Justin seemed oblivious to the change in the compartment, and pulled a clipboard of notes from his satchel.

"All right," he began. "You all know Hermione Granger, I assume? Well, Hermione what do you think about us all going around and saying our name and house?"

"That's a great idea," Hermione affirmed, trying her best to appear authoritive. "I'll just start. I'm Hermione Granger, and I'm a Gryffindor."

"Is it true you broke into Gringotts?" A Slytherin prefect Hermione did not recognize asked.

"Yes it's true," contributed a heavy-browed Hufflepuff. "It was in the Prophet!"

"Does Harry Potter really have a Hippogriff tattoo on his chest?" An eager looking Gryffindor who Hermione knew was called Sarah demanded.

"I don't really see how-"

"Exactly how tall is Ron Weasley?" A blond Ravenclaw asked, her face blushing red. "Do you know Neville Longbottom as well?"

"Don't you feel a little bad about accepting the position of Head Girl when you weren't even a Hogwarts student last year?"

A strawberry-blonde, Seventh Year Ravenclaw who Ginny had mentioned several times smiled unpleasantly at Hermione, her green eyes cold and hard.

"All right, all right!" Justin called loudly, clapping his hands. "Let's just move on, shall we? I'm Justin Finch-Fletchley and I'm in Hufflepuff House. Who's next?"

The prefects, perhaps sensing they would get no information from Hermione, cooperated with the introductions, and after spending several minutes going over instructions, they dispersed to patrol the train.

Hermione found Justin to be an ideal patrol-partner. He chatted pleasantly with her, yet was never intrusive. He didn't seem intimidated by the fact that she was a part of the "Golden Trio", and he was secure enough to defer to her several times throughout the trip.

"What was the rule about school robes, Hermione?" He asked several hours later, just outside of Hogsmede. "They had to be on prior to arriving in Hogsmede, correct?"

"Yes, that's right," Hermione affirmed, smiling kindly at a group of awe-struck looking First Years. "And we'll be arriving very soon, so you'll want to change straight-away."

"Well I think that's the most we can expect before arriving, so would you like to just meet up again at the Sorting Feast?" Justin asked.

"Sure, only we should keep an eye out for First Years who may need help when we arrive."

After Justin had agreed and wandered away, Hermione set off to find Ginny. She discovered her in one of the last compartments with Neville and Luna.

"Hey Head Girl, we're not breaking any rules-promise," Ginny joked when Hermione stepped through the door.

"Ha-ha," Hermione rolled her eyes, and dropped down in the seat beside Neville. "Hey Neville."

"Hi Hermione," he smiled, clutching a book that Hermione could see was about plants of Southern England. "Haven't seen you since-"

"The Ministry Wall Dedication, yeah," Hermione nodded. "Been to any other Ministry soirees this summer, Neville?"

Neville blushed and ducked his head. "I had lunch with the Minister and Mr. Weasley."

"You did?" Ginny demanded. "They didn't ask you to skip your last year at Hogwarts, did they?"

"Well," Neville's eyes had gone wide as though he had given away too much.

"Ugh!" Ginny groaned, pulling her school robes on over her Muggle clothes. "I know the Ministry is in shambles, but people have the right to get on with their lives…or at least complete their education."

"They're just looking for people they can trust," Neville said quietly. "And I'm honored they have confidence in me."

"Yes, the Minister needs people he can trust," Luna said dreamily. "The Ministry is already being infiltrated by Dementor Wraiths."

Ginny opened her mouth as if to make a retort at Neville, when Luna's words seemed to sink in. "What is a Dementor Wraith?" she asked instead.

"They're wizards in the process of turning into a Dementor," she explained patiently. "The Wraiths want to take over so that they can feast on souls at will."

Luna smiled around at all of them, before turning to her bag and beginning to rifle around in it.

"It's going to be odd, being back, isn't it?" Neville asked, breaking the silence.

Hermione nodded. "It almost doesn't seem real without…"

"Harry and Ron?" Luna guessed bluntly. "Yes, it is terribly sad that they're not back."

Hermione only nodded, the sound of their names causing a horrible stab of loneliness to pierce her.

"But you have us as friends too," Luna added, patting Hermione's hand gently.

"Thanks, Luna."

The arrival at Hogsmede went without incident, and after Hermione had helped the First Years find their way to Hagrid, she made her way through the jostling crowd to find Ginny, Neville, and Luna. Before she reached them, however, she stopped dead in her tracks. The thestrals that had always been invisible to her eyes stood there: black, hairless, and skeletal. All at once she recalled exactly why they were suddenly visible. She had seen death. She had watched Fred Weasley die, as well as several others. They would always be visible to her now.

By the way Ginny stood, Hermione knew that she could see them now as well.

"They aren't pleasant looking," Ginny muttered to Hermione without taking her eyes off of the leathery creatures. "But I suppose it doesn't matter."

Hermione shook her head. "No."

Together they boarded a carriage and took the familiar ride to Hogwarts. Despite the fact that she was missing both Ron and Harry terribly, Hermione smiled as a feeling of homecoming welled up inside of her.

"Still exciting, isn't it?" Ginny asked as she smiled along with Hermione.

After several minutes the jostling carriage came to a halt, and when Hermione had disembarked she found herself standing in front of the marble steps that lead up to the impressive castle door.

"Looks like everyone's come back," Ginny called to Hermione above the babble of voices. Hermione nodded her agreement as she returned a wave to Parvati Patil from across a sea of faces.

Suddenly it felt as though an ice cube had slipped into her stomach. There, climbing the steps to enter the castle, his back to the crowd, was Draco Malfoy. Hermione was suddenly glad that Ron was so far away.

"Never mind," Ginny said in her ear as she took her arm protectively. "Come on, Hermione."

Together they made their way into the Great Hall, calling hello to old friends, and sharing amused glances. All the while they were being watched on all sides by the curious eyes of their classmates who seemed to find their arrival to be of the upmost fascination and excitement.

"You would think we were a couple of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks," Ginny whispered in Hermione's ear, causing Hermione to erupt in a fit of near hysterical giggles. Seeing Draco Malfoy had caused a spike of adrenaline and nerves to erupt in her chest, causing her to feel borderline giddy.

"Oh look Ginny," Hermione called, when she had composed herself again. "There's Professor-"

Hermione came to a sudden and absolute halt. There standing in front of the Gryffindor table was a person she never expected to see there. Feeling as though the wind had been knocked out of her, she opened and closed her mouth several times without being able to form a single word.

The person in front of her smiled sheepishly. "Hello."

* * *

A/N: I just realized that I have been working on this story for going on two years. My, how time flies! I'm going to set a goal of trying to produce a chapter a month, but I'm not sure how realistic that is as I'm about to start working on some other professional goals. Eh, we shall see what happens...

As always, **thank you** to all who reviewed the last chapter! Your comments and _constructive_ criticism are always welcome!


	13. Surprises and Resolve

A/N: Thank you to all who are still reading. I understand that it's been ages since my last update but I have a lot going on. As such, I cannot promise when the next chapter will be posted. I can only hope that you all will keep checking back, and be extremely patient with me. Thank you (sincerely) for all of the reviews posted for the last chapter. Every review was like a wonderful stab at my conscience...a push to open my laptop and get to work! (:

* * *

**Surprises and Resolve**

"What are you…? Is everyone all right? _Harry?_" She searched his eyes for any signs of distress or panic.

"You really had no idea?"

He stared at her with eager blue eyes, and a face alight with achievement.

She felt her eyes narrow almost involuntarily. "You've been planning this," she accused.

Ron's responsive grin turned unbearably smug. "Of course I have been. Didn't you know you're attached to a genius?"

Hermione, however, didn't feel like laughing. She felt annoyed-annoyed that she had somehow failed to put together what was apparently an elaborate puzzle.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley," she hissed quietly. "You had better explain and explain fast!"

Far from looking intimidated, Ron only rolled his eyes and continued to look triumphant. "I knew you'd be angry. I told Harry so."

_"Harry knew?" _

"Of course, Ginny too."

Hermione whipped around to find Ginny who was sitting several people down with Luna and Neville. When Hermione caught her eye she smiled guiltily and shrugged. Hermione glared daggers.

"Oh relax, will you," Ron said, still in impossibly high spirits. "I reckon I can surprise you if I feel like it."

He grabbed her arm and pulled her gently forward, guiding her into a seat. Hermione knew that there was a great feast laid before her, but was incapable of really comprehending anything apart from Ron-warm and obnoxiously cheerful at her side.

"Look," he said, pulling her plate out from in front of her and beginning to pile it up with food. "Everything's worked out rather nicely, so it would be great if you wouldn't bite my head off, ok?"

Hermione let out a slow breath and nodded, deciding to do her best to keep an open mind. "Fine. What's going on?"

"Well after I decided that I was going to go forward with the Auror Academy, I got to talking to George." He plunked her plate down in front of her and began to serve himself heaping mounds of boiled potatoes and lamb chops. "Well obviously he's been having a rough time of it, but he was starting to talk nonsense. It was the day you lot came here for McGonagall's orientation, and I went to see George in Hogsmede-All right, Longbottom?"

Hermione watched Ron in complete awe as he waved at Neville while skewering a potato with his free hand. "So George is talking about how he doesn't know who he is without Fred, and he doesn't think he can continue on with Wheezes on his own. Well, after that, George and I got to talking about it more and more, until we finally agreed that I would help him with the shops until he…you know…had recovered a bit more."

Hermione digested this news with a mixture of admiration and continued annoyance. "What about the Auror Academy? Have you given that up then?"

Ron shook his head and swallowed. "No, I fixed it with Kingsley. I have a guaranteed spot in the next Academy should I still want it."

"Well that's…that's wonderful, I guess. That still doesn't explain what you're doing here?"

"Well, Fred and George had been planning on expanding, see?"

Hermione shook her head and Ron sighed as though he couldn't believe that her wits would fail her at such an inopportune time.

"They were planning on opening a Wheezes shop here in Hogsmede, remember? So we're going forward with that plan, and I'll oversee the shop's day-to-day affairs."

"So…" Hermione chewed over his words. "So you'll be staying…?"

"In Hogsmede, yeah." Ron beamed at her. "There's a small cottage attached to the shop. Nothing fancy. Two bedrooms, a loo, a miniscule kitchen, and a sitting room."

"You'll be living in Hogsmede?" Hermione reiterated, feeling a powerful joy beginning to swell inside of her.

"Some of the time," Ron confirmed, shoving a piece of shepherd's pie into his mouth. "I'll have to be in London some of the time as well. George will need help with inventory, and there'll be times that he has to…well…"

"Take some personal days?"

Ron nodded. "But I'll still be around. Harry and I will be bacheloring it up!"

"Harry will be in Hogsmede as well?"

"Well he hasn't said so _exactly_, but I don't think he'll last long at Grimmuld Place on his own, do you?"

Hermione imagined Harry alone in his vast London home and knew that Ron was right.

"I give him two days tops," Ron laughed.

"So…we'll get to see each other all the time, then?" Hermione could hardly believe what he was telling her.

Suddenly Ron scowled. "Not exactly," he said, casting a dark look at the Head Table. "I tried to get McGonagall to agree to give me free reign of the place, but she wasn't having it. Can you believe it? It's like she doesn't trust me after all we've been through together!"

"She's just doing her job," Hermione defended. "Besides, you shouldn't try to use your fame to get special privileges."

"I don't see why I shouldn't, but it doesn't matter, does it? She said that she might grant the occasional visit, otherwise I would have to wait for Hogsmede weekends."

"Well it's better than nothing, I suppose," Hermione said as the idea of having a daily meal with Ron evaporated in her mind. "Why are you smiling like that?"

Ron leaned across the table and looked around suspiciously. "If you think I'm going to live down the bloody road from you and still only see you a few times every few months then you don't know me as well as you seem to think you do."

Hermione thought for a moment and then felt her face pale. "Harry's cloak. Oh Ron, Professor McGonagall knows about Harry's invisibility cloak! It'll never work!"

"Worth a shot anyway," Ron said with a shrug. The look on Hermione's face must have been frightening, for the next moment he added: "Look, if I'm caught I'll swear up and down that you had nothing to do with anything. It's not as if she can expel _me_."

Hermione shook her head. "No, but she could have you arrested for trespassing!"

"Like she would," Ron snorted. "Just relax, please. I worked really hard on this and still managed to keep you in the dark and it wasn't easy. Will you just be happy about it?"

Hermione felt her mouth tugging upwards in a smile. "It was a pretty brilliant plan," she admitted, loving the way her compliment made him blush.

"Thank you," he said modestly.

She was suddenly worried. "You're not doing all this just for me though, are you?"

"Huh?" Ron asked, pulling a great bowl of ice cream toward himself. "Well no, it's for me as well."

He smiled at her suggestively, and it was Hermione's turn to blush.

"What I mean is: You're not giving up going to the Auror Academy _just_ to be close to me, are you? I...it's not a good enough reason."

"I already told you," Ron said, pushing a bowl of jelly and ice cream in front of her. Hermione looked down at her bowl and felt her toes tingle. He knew jelly and ice cream was one of her favorites. "I'm not giving up being an Auror, just postponing things a bit. For you, for me, and for George. Plus, this way Harry and I can go through the Academy together. Win-win, see?"

Hermione looked into Ron's excited blue eyes and wondered when the insensitive git with the emotional range of a teaspoon had grown into such a thoughtful and self-sacrificing man. She wanted to tell him how utterly brilliant she thought he was, but with everyone watching she settled for reaching across the table and lacing her fingers through his.

"Thank you," she said softly.

He shrugged casually, but Hermione noted his very red ears. "It was nothing. Besides, like I said, it's as much for me as it was for you."

"All the same."

Suddenly Ron's posture stiffened and his eyes narrowed. "That's another big reason right there," he growled.

Hermione followed his glare just in time to see Malfoy slipping silently from the Great Hall. "I'm not afraid of Malfoy," she said.

And truly she wasn't. Malfoy didn't seem to be the same arrogant, entitled bully that he once was. Hermione wondered if his time with Voldemort had scared him straight, but whatever the case, she knew that he would never again pose any sort of threat, real or juvenile. Still, there was something about his face that made so many horrible memories feel that much more tangible.

"It doesn't matter," Ron said. "I think I'll have a word with him anyway."

And before Hermione could call him back, Ron's long legs had taken him across the Great Hall and through the doors.

"Malfoy," Ron called as soon as he had made it out of the Great Hall. "I know you hear me! I want to talk to you!"

At the top of the stairs Malfoy came to a weary sort of halt. "Fine. I'm here Weasley, let's get this over with."

Ron pulled his wand and jogged quietly up the stairs, ready for anything Malfoy might pull. When he reached him, however, he stood with his arms crossed and his wand still obviously stowed in his back pocket.

Ron glowered at him for a moment as feelings of deepest loathing worked their way through his system.

"You have a lot of God-damned nerve showing up here today," he spat.

Malfoy sighed. "It wasn't my idea."

"Oh? Did mummy and daddy force ickle Malfoy back? Still haven't learned to make decisions for yourself, _Draco?_"

Malfoy's face paled and Ron was thrilled to see him return his glare. He was itching for any excuse to curse him. He wanted so desperately to hurt the boy in front of him; to give him a taste of what Hermione had endured as he watched, completely indifferent.

He had never planned to kill Lestrange…it had simply been an act of desperation, but he thought in that moment, that he might be capable of killing Malfoy.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Weasley," he choked. "You don't know the half of it!"

Ron laughed humorlessly. "I think I do. You and your ass-kissing, spineless family watched as Hermione-" His rage choked him making speech impossible for several moments. "You may as well have cursed her yourself."

Malfoy opened his mouth as if to retort before seeming to lose all fight and simply gazing away.

"You listen to me you fucker," Ron continued, feeling his anger mounting. "You are going to stay away from-"

"Granger and your sister, yeah." Malfoy nodded and Ron felt his hands ball into fists. "Don't worry, Weasley, I won't go near them. Won't say a single word to them."

"Are you taking the piss out of me?" Ron demanded, just barely restraining himself from pounding Malfoy to putty.

Malfoy sighed. "I don't want to be here anymore than you or anyone else wants me here. But the Ministry's fines have…" he snapped his mouth shut and shook his head. "I need a career to…until things at home are…better. I have to be here. I need N.E.W.T.S."

"I don't give a fuck," Ron hissed, stepping closer to Malfoy who continued to act complacent. "Just stay the hell away from Hermione and my sister."

"Yeah," Malfoy said, some of the old arrogance returning to his voice as he pushed past Ron. "I heard you the first time."

_"Ron."_

Ron sighed but refused to turn his back on Malfoy. "Yeah?"

"McGonagall will be here any second. Come on."

Ron spared Malfoy one last look of deepest disgust before turning his back on him, and accepting the hand Hermione held out to him.

"I thought you were past this," she hissed as they stalked back to the Great Hall.

Ron nodded. "Yeah, I thought I was too."

* * *

Harry gazed into the mirror and straightened his robes once again. He wished he had followed Ginny's advice and purchased new ones, but he simply hadn't felt like dealing with the mobs. Now, however, looking at himself in his old Hogwarts robes, he felt suddenly foolish and sophomoric. No one at the Ministry was going to take him seriously.

"Perhaps you should brush your hair," the mirror suggested shrewdly. He spared a moment to give it a dirty look, before turning away in search of his money pouch. He would have to buy his lunch. Perhaps he would venture into Muggle London to do it.

He stepped out of Grimmuld Place feeling an odd sense of relief. Without Kreacher, the house was once again beginning to fall into disrepair, and Harry couldn't find it within himself to care much. Plus, with Ginny, Ron, and Hermione gone, it seemed to be exactly what its name suggested: Grim and old.

Harry began to make his way to a handy alley that was only about a block away. As he did, his thoughts strayed to his best friends. Harry missed them terribly. For the first few days their absence had caused such a sharp loneliness in Harry that it had been like a living thing all its own. He missed Ginny too, of course, but their relationship had always been marked with long absences. Although he was anxious to put the days of separation behind them, Harry was still accustomed to being apart from her for long stretches at a time. With Ron and Hermione it was different…like finding himself suddenly without a limb.

He apparated, as instructed, to a special entrance just outside of the Ministry. He approached the exhausted-looking security wizard and handed over his brand new Ministry ID. The security wizard scrutinized it for ten solid minutes, before passing a long, golden probe over the length of Harry's body.

"Go on, then," he finally instructed with a weary jerk of his head.

Harry passed into the Ministry and was struck, once again, by the new memorial. He felt his heart skip a beat when his father's face appeared, smiling carelessly.

"Hello Harry."

Harry was so engrossed in his father's picture that he jumped at Percy Weasley's salutation.

"Good morning," he said when he had gathered his wits.

"First day, huh? Well we definitely need you. Everyone's been working fourteen to fifteen hour days, and Kingsley even more."

Harry scratched his head. "Yeah, everyone looks dead tired."

They paused, waiting for a lift, and Percy nodded his head. "Between those who were killed, those who are awaiting trial, and those who are on the run, our workforce has been significantly thinned out. Charlie is even giving up the dragons for the time being so that he can come help out."

"Charlie's giving up his dragons?" Harry couldn't believe it.

Percy nodded. "Not for good. He just feels like it's his duty to be here."

Harry understood the feeling all too well, but suddenly being the Minister's assistant didn't feel like enough.

"What department has been hit the hardest?" He asked.

Percy laughed without humor. "The Aurors, no doubt. You-Know…Voldemort killed half their ranks straightaway, and the others were bullied, coerced, bribed, and even cursed into following him. At the time of Voldemort's death, there were only three good Aurors still standing, and as you can imagine, they now have a significant workload to be getting on with. It's no wonder Lestrange was able to elude the Ministry as long as he did."

Harry winced at the mention of Lestrange's name, and thought immediately of Ron and Hermione, and how close he had once again come to losing them.

Harry already knew the answer, but he asked anyway. "Are there still more out there?"

"Death Eaters? Merlin, yes. Most of them are just running scared, you know. Still, there's no telling if there's another Barty Crouch, or Lestrange." Percy looked around and lowered his voice. "The truth is, Harry, Voldemort may be gone, but there's still plenty of reason to be afraid."

Harry felt anger rise up in him. He was tired. He was tired of death. He was tired of uncertainty. He was tired of worrying. Most of all, however, he was tired of being afraid…tired of being targeted.

"They've got to be captured," he muttered fiercely, more to himself than Percy. "They've got to be stopped."


End file.
